Inn Mátik Munr
by Nefer-T
Summary: Life as a young Viking adult in Berk might have gotten a lot more fun since dragons arrived, but theirs is still a harsh world. Battles remain to be fought - against warring tribes, stereotypes, tradition - all for the sake of freedom, willpower... and love. When you have to choose something to sacrifice, which one will you leave behind? Love, or duty? /HICCSTRID
1. Chapter 1

**Inn Mátki Munr**

_So, the title basically translates to "The Mighty Passion". I think it sounds pretty epic, but hey! That's just me and my fiddles. :)_

_So, I've been disconnected from for a LONG time now. I just totally lost inspiration for my Fullmetal Alchemist fics after I'd lost some chapters I had worked on so diligently when my computer decided to meltdown. I still do love edxWin smut, mufufufufu._

_However, I recently saw the trailer for HTTYD2 and could NOT get this out of my head. xD Let's just see where it goes, shall we? I am rating it _**Teen**_ for the language and... possibly some more explicit scenes, but I may change it to Mature somewhere algon the way. You have been warned - I like lemons, and while I may not necessarily be writing one every chapter, there may be a spontaneous citrus lying about somewhere, if I see it fits within the story._

_I'll tend to the rating if it gets there. :p_

_so! Enough babble, and on with the fic. Enjoy! (hopefully, lol)_

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own How to Train Your Dragon or its characters. Duh.

* * *

CHAPTER ONE - Bad news are bad.

* * *

The weather was wonderful that day; sun high in the sky, it was warm, and there was a lovely spring breeze wafting about. The huge, burly man hulked over to where the group of teenagers were, merrily breaking their fast outside, drinking mead and eating bread and fish, all of them sprawled in the lush grass surrounding the town square – his son laughing at some joke, blissfully unaware of the ill news that awaited him.

Stoick felt terrible about ruining such a fine day, but he couldn't postpone this any longer. Odin knows he tried to, but no more; there was a deadline to give the response to that gods-forsaken letter he'd received.

"I need to talk to you, son." Hiccup didn't budge. "_Now_. In private."

Everyone fell silent all of a sudden. Stoick usually didn't speak in such a grim tone unless he had bad news on his hands; well, he'd used to talk to Hiccup a certain way when they boy'd been younger, before… before Toothless showed up and changed everything.

As Stoick walked back into his house, he hoped his long strides did not betray his nervousness. He heard Hiccup get up and follow him.

He really didn't want to do this, but was there a choice?

Hiccup glanced over from his father's large back to their house, back and forth. His father had been receiving loads of correspondence lately, and had been in a bit of a sour mood; Hiccup had a feeling he unwillingly had something to do with it.

"Guess your streak of perfect behaviour's gone down the drain, huh?" Snotlout teased while he chewed, spraying some food into his mug. Hiccup ignored his cousin and stood up, shaking the bread crumbs from his tunic.

Before he walked away, Hiccup looked over to Astrid and nodded discretely; she nodded back. They'd planned to go riding together by the end of the day, what with the weather being as good as it was, to go to the hot springs inside the mountain. He liked to think of it as their little spot; it sent his heart beating frantically whenever he thought about going there with her.

Things always happened whenever they went there. The first time they found that particular natural sauna had been a couple of months ago, a day before Hiccup left on one of his scouting trips; when they left the cave an hour later, just before sunset, they were both flushed and breathless and not entirely due to the steam from the hot water.

He liked what they had. Were they officially a couple? He wasn't entirely sure because they'd never really talked about it, and always tried to be discrete around everyone else, but what else could they be? They kissed, and occasionally groped each other – nothing too daring, of course – so he figured they kind of were, in their own way.

And he was happy about it. So he hummed tunelessly over to his house, his father's dark demeanour suddenly forgotten; he was focused on their trip to the hot springs, and for a few minutes those thoughts brought him nothing but a sheer sense of satisfaction.

But when his father solemnly told him to sit down, he sourly noted his bliss was to be a short-lived one.

"Did I do something wrong, Dad?" He wondered what was going on; lately Hiccup had done nothing but his duties to the village, scouting diligently, charting, mapping, exploring – bringing back tales of what he found and his newly-acquired knowledge – and dragon-training, of course. He'd even heard one of the villagers say it was truly lucky that they would, someday, have a very knowledgeable Chief. He'd blushed.

"No, son. Nothing." Stoick then decided to add, "I'm nothing but proud of you, son," just for reassurement. Hiccup let out a breath he did not know he was holding.

"Okay... Well, what is it then?" Hiccup asked, those smart green eyes a kindle with both curiosity and caution.

Stoick struggled for words. For days now, he'd not known what to say. He'd practised his words, but they did not seem to come out right, so he'd practised the speech in his mind dozens of times… and to no avail. Still, he was at a loss. How to explain this?

"Well… son… You see, there's this… Ye know, you're… my son." Stoick stammered.

"Oh, what a shocking reveal."

Stoick ignored his son's jest. "And, well… you've _grown_…"

For a moment Hiccup donned a smug expression on his face. "Yeah, a bit."

"An' I suppose you're a man now. Well, still a boy…. Well, sometimes… but sometimes a man, an' that man's gonna be Chief of Berk someday." Stoick made a face like he was holding in some major gas.

"Uh… A long time from now, let's hope. Right, Dad?" This conversation sure was leading down an ominous path.

"Right. But, well…" Stoick decided to just get it out with, or they'd be here all day and night. "Son," he said, pointing at the man-boy's face, "you're almost nine-and-ten now. A man grown, by all standards, and you've proved yourself a fine one, and for that I am thankful."

Hiccup couldn't say anything at this point. He was being _complimented_?

"An' I'm sure you'll make a fine Chief someday. You have leadership in you, you have your own sort of…" he fiddled around for the right word. "…charisma. An' you've got guts, I tell ya that. You've got a way with the beasts, an' people are respectful of that sort of power."

For a moment, Hiccup could actually see the wrinkles hidden amongst his father's huge mane of a beard, as if weighed down by his words.

"An' you've got to learn: a leader must sometimes make sacrifices. For the good of his people."

Wait a minute… "Haven't I sacrificed already?" Hiccup deadpanned, lifting up his metallic leg to prove his point.

"I know, son. But this is different." Stoick sighed. One last push. "You're of age to marry, Hiccup." He noticed his son's eyes flash and widen, his cheeks redden in sudden discomfort, hands clenching around the bench he sat on. "An' I've been gettin' some pressure from other clans. The Bunkerheads – you remember the ones that've been threatening with war – they say they'd sign a peace treaty if you married the daughter of Chief Athole 'The Blister'. So…"

By then Hiccup had gone pale white, the color of curdled milk. He held his breath.

"This is what I've come to tell you, son," Stoick produced a parchment, seemingly from inside his enormous bushy beard, "The terms for the wedding contract with that Bunkerhead girl, erm…" He checked the parchment, "Bergthora."

Silence. More silence. After a few minutes, Hiccup started to blink furiously. He ruffled his untamed hair in a nervous tick and shot up suddenly, color violently returning to his cheeks, "I don't care what they claim to want," his voice trembled, "I'm not some object, to be used as a peace offering."

"Son. I know this isn't what you'd planned. But maybe –"

"No maybes. I'm not marrying that girl, whoever she is, and that's it. We can come to other terms for that peace agreement." Hiccup made to walk up the stairs to his bedroom.

"They're adamant, Hiccup. They've been pressuring ever since the girl's turned six-and-ten, over a year ago, and this would be a convenient alliance. I've been giving you time, but now we need to make a choice before the next harvest to Idun."

"I DON'T CARE!" All of a sudden the boy shifted into a man, his voice booming, his face scowled in anger, his swollen chest heaving with uneven breath; defiant, "I'm not _throwing_ myself into Odin knows what sort of marriage, with a girl I don't know! You can't do this to me! It's **my** life, I'm not just a fucking convenience!"

And with that he took off, ignoring his father's shouts behind him. He ran outside, called for Toothless, and immediately jumped onto his dragon's back, quickly sliding into his complex saddle. He was absurdly thankful that his companion had rebuked his attempts to remove the saddle from its back last night.

As he rose up into the skies, powerful black scaly wings beating at the air around him, detaching him from the village down below, he could feel everyone's eyes on him. Burning stares, he sensed them, and for a moment he felt like a little boy who'd just screwed up again, getting yelled at by his father. He never usually yelled back when he was a kid, but he was a child no longer. He wanted to look down then, to scream at all of them that he was no kid, but a man grown, and responsible for his own life. He'd sacrificed himself for them before, lost a limb, nearly his life and his dragon's; so he wanted to take control of his own matters with his own hands, and no tribal dispute should be getting in the middle of what he wanted out of his life!

He wanted to look down then, and tell them that. Tell them **all**. But he couldn't bring himself to see if Astrid was watching – he feared that if he saw her face, the knot in his throat would tighten to the point where it would choke him to death.

* * *

END OF CHAPTER ONE

* * *

_Well, this one's wrapped up. I'll publish the next one tomorrow, most likely, or maybe tonight. It's already done, just needs some tweaks I think - and, yes, I'll get to the romance soon enough, if that's what ya'll are wondering._

_Please bear in mind that I don't have a Beta Reader to fix my screw-ups, so any pointed mistakes are appreciated (...if I eventually decide to tend to them, lulz) and any suggestions as well. Don't be shy! Reviews are a very helpful way to help someone progress with their story-telling skillz0rz._

_ Just don't flame, haters. Not my fault you have nothing better to do with your life that being a sorry, bitter little person. Go watch a movie and eat popcorn. Go!_

_Reviews are much appreciated, simply because, as readers, your opinions are much valued regarding plot, stylistics, grammar mistakes, etc. But the good old "_Hey, this is okay,_" works for me too!_


	2. Introspective

_Here's the second chapter. :) just going along with it, describing what I think is necessary for character development (and for scenaric purposes :p), moving this along at my own pace. Don't want to rush it._

_i do enjoy getting into the characters' minds whenever possible... Sometimes maybe even a little bit too much. :p_

_Thank you for all the reviews! A lot of people were really sweet, so thanks. Much appreciated. :)_

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO: introspective**

* * *

He finally slumped down on the soft, earthly soil after his rush of adrenaline had started to die down. Toothless had landed just near a series of small streams of water, clear liquid flowing from between the green-speckled rocks, running down the hill of the mountain to pour into a small lake. The scenery was nothing short of idyllic; water clambered on down from the large natural formation, one of the sides of the largest mountains in Berk, its stone face alive with fauna and flora alike. From above, that bit of the mountain side looked less grey, less stony; more like a gigantic bush, covered in all colors – the green of the leaves, the lively colors of the many flowers upon it, the patterns created by the many a birds nesting upon the stones and roots.

Down below, boy and dragon were surrounded by the stone wall behind them, the lake in the middle, the forest all around. Up above, high in the clear blue sky the sun was shining joyous heat upon all those below it; and underneath, the grass was so green and thick it looked as if the ground had been dyed with the finest dyes trader Johann could find.

After they had both quenched their thirst, a tired yet content Toothless bounded away to sprawl over a sun-bathed rock, blissfully unaware of human-related problems. However, he _could_ sense that his little human felt troubled, so he had nudged him caringly on the ribs with his large, scaly head before heading out. The dragon was soon sound asleep, leaving its rider alone with bitter thoughts.

While he'd been flying, Hiccup hadn't thought about any of this; during that one hour up in the air, he'd managed to keep his mind clear and concentrate only on _feeling_, and on controlling the flight – but he mostly let Toothless go where he liked, spiralling up and down the billowy clouds, skimming close to their own reflection upon the surface of the sea. All he'd cared about was the wind beating at his face and the thrill of the immensely high speed.

But now he was back on solid ground, those nagging thoughts came back to haunt him. He didn't want to marry some stranger. He didn't want his marriage to be arranged. He didn't want to be forced into it, with someone he didn't know. He didn't want to leave Astrid.

Astrid…

_Hey! What kind of an idiot am I? Like Astrid would ever even consider marrying me… we're just playing around until a suitable candidate comes along. Or rather, she's the one playing around, to be honest…_

But what's suitable, anyway? Hiccup was more than capable of paying a hefty bride-price to her parents; and no doubt his future position as a Chief was a major weigh-in. After all, his is the top of a Viking island's social ladder.

_Oh, what in Hel's name am I thinking!_ He stood up, reprimanding himself for thinking about the whole thing as if it were an equation – he'd told his father not to think of him as an object, so why was he doing that to his… relationship with Astrid?

Actually, he could count himself lucky. Girls don't usually get asked how they felt about their marriage; many were just thrown into it, and told to deal with it and get to know their husbands from scratch. Same with the men, but at least they could voice their opinion on the negotiations. And Hiccup had done just so – he wanted that chance to court Astrid and win her heart, so that if the day ever came to sign a wedding contract she'd be as willing to go for it as he was.

Wait, what? He was? Did he want to marry Astrid? Where did _that_ one come from? Well… actually…

It's not like he'd never even considered marriage before. In his younger years, he would oft daydream about the day he would become someone important, claiming Astrid's heart with effortless swoon. He would envision the awe-inspired faces of all those who shunned him as the wedding ceremony took its place, a grand event perfectly matching the appropriate magnitude of celebration.

His focus was not on the wedding itself; it was on the bond between him and his golden-haired, axe-wielding, fierce beloved. The wedding was more of a… prize. Something to have bragging rights over – not that he was ever a boaster; but still, it would be quite the victory to prove all those people wrong. Yes, the villaged hiccup _could_ get the hot fierce girl. He wasn't just a screw-up, and he needed that to be shown… although, granted, thinking of marrying someone as proof that he was more successful was the wrong way to go about it.

It would never be just for the bragging rights, or the attention, Hiccup told himself as he stood up to stretch his legs. _No, that's just me trying to justify the fact that, yes, I'd like to get married. To Astrid. Out of love, of course. I wonder if that's a girly thing to think?_

Seldom had love ever been a prerequisite for Viking marriage, although it was considered ill fortune when one – or both – of the betrotheds were against the arrangement. No, wedlock was usually brought into existence as a necessity in his world – a much-needed alliance, the need for the dowry, a way to escape an unpleasant life – , but he was having a hard time coming to terms with that.

Why did traditions have to be such idiotic things? Could there not be some flexibility, some evolution in their ways? Vikings were stubborn, yes, and that's precisely why Hiccup strongly believed people should just go try to chase their happiness, write their own stories. Even so, when pressured in such a way, there were very few options left to choose from.

Still, marriage by love happened. Right? So they _might_ have a chance. Well, _he_ might have a chance. Maybe. Hopefully. After all, as few as they were, songs and poems had been written and sung in the memory of mighty passions that had existed in the Viking world. He wished he could be one of those cases.

But would he really risk a war between Viking tribes out of love for her?

He was afraid to even think it.

How about her?

If Astrid hadn't thought about it, they wouldn't be sneaking around all the time, would they? Everyone knew courtship was not an easy game for a man to play, because if the maiden's reputation was somehow at stake, then her family's was also on the slab – making it very dangerous to the suitor to work his charms.

Of course, when they were younger nobody would think they would be up to some less-than-innocent activities whenever they'd disappear for hours. And, truthfully, they weren't. Lately, however, people would notice, and they would gossip – and rightfully so. They _would_ occasionally sneak around to be by themselves, and snogging was always a possibility. He did have the rest of the gang to thank; sometimes even unknowingly, they'd provided an alibi for the two of them to whisk away unnoticed.

He wondered if he'd had time to work his charms on Astrid. He hoped he'd at least gotten better at kissing; he still remembered that day she'd told him, "You can kiss me back, you know? Your head won't fall off," punching his arm afterward. The years had seemingly passed by in the blink of an eye…

He went on with his musings, strolling around the forest, kicking at leaves and rocks as he walked farther and farther away from the snoring Toothless, disappearing under the unsteady shade provided by the tall green-leafed trees.

He walked and walked and walked, and pondered, and mused, and wracked his brain about what his choices were and weren't. Occasionally he would close his eyes and reminisce on a particularly long kiss, only to be rudely awaken from his reverie by tripping on some rock or root, muttering mute curses under his breath.

Eventually he decided to turn back to find Toothless again. It was getting terribly hot even under the shade, the midday sun now burning brightly, a little bit too cheery for his sour mood. Absurdly hot, for Berk. Even so, he needed the sun's good mood; maybe the heat would help kill the mould he felt was forming around his core.

So he went for a dip when he arrived at his destination. Unfastening the buckles. Off with the leather and the wool. Off with his boot, his breeches and his smallclothes – and his prosthetic foot. Best not to overly-expose it to rust factors.

Carefully, clumsily, he hobbled into the mildly cool water, feeling refreshed and awakened. The small lake wasn't too deep, but he could at least still have a bit of a swim in it, so he did. His stump ached numbingly, but he ignored it and paddled along languidly, relishing the cold.

After a time he decided it was about time to leave the lake, and maybe during the afternoon they could go out flying somewhere else – he just needed to get away from it all for a while. So he turned to look at Toothless, ready to call at him, when he noticed his black-scaled friend had its ears up in the air, flipping about like antennae, its green eyes scouting the sky above.

"Someone's coming!" Hiccup whispered to himself as he scrambled around, as a sort of motivation to get out of the water faster. He managed to pull his breeches on before he heard the flap of dragon wings coming closer, and before he'd finished attaching his prosthetic, Astrid had landed on the ground nearby.

Well, there goes being alone with his thoughts. Now the main object of them was swooping in from above in all her glory. And on a fire-breathing dragon, which could prove dangerous.

"What's up with you, Hiccup?" she asked reproachfully as she clambered down from Stormfly. Her hair was tousled from the flight, her braids now half-undone, but she still looked fierce and beautiful as always, "What happened? You didn't even… Oh. Sorry."

She turned around when she noticed he was bare-chested, to allow him some privacy. But he simply finished up with his prosthetic and stood, tugging his breeches a little bit upwards so they wouldn't sit so low on his waist. He refused to put on his tunic and leather vest again – he didn't want to melt with the midday heat so soon after getting out of the cool water, while he still felt refreshed. Embarrassingly, he noted he'd forgotten his smallclothes on the ground.

"Why are you here?" he asked, a bit more coldly than he'd intended.

"I was worried, you idiot. You and your dad yelled at each other, and then you just jumped and took off. You were so _angry_. And I…" she turned back around to talk to him and noticed he was still shirtless, but aside from that small pause she made no comment or other movement, "I decided to come look for you. See if you needed someone to talk to. You know, vent?"

No. No, he wasn't talking to her about this messed-up situation. And how would he explain it? _My father wants me to marry some girl from another tribe but I want to marry you instead, I think. Yeah, probably. That is, if _you_ want to marry _me_, obviously… but why wouldn't you? I'm not a bad catch, all things considered. Please be mine?_

But the words wouldn't come out, of course, so all he could muster was a choked up "I'm fine."

"You're lying," she insisted, walking up closer to him until she was at arm's reach, "is it really that bad? You never get that angry, Hiccup. It's not in you. I mean, come on, you're a happy drunk! An uncommon trait in a Viking," despite the jest, the look of defeat on his face said it all; yes, it's bad, and I don't want to talk about it. He didn't need to voice it this time.

"Okay, I won't push you. It's a private father-son business after all," she said, one hand on her hip and the other flipping about in the air in a movement of dismissal.

A sketch of a smile faintly graced Hiccup's face, and he heard himself chuckle softly.

They absent-mindedly walked over to where Stormfly was grooming, and he noticed the Nadder had some travel sacks strapped to the back of its saddle. Astrid saw his confused look.

"I threw some stuff into the bags because I thought, you know, you'd still be up for the… hot springs. You know," she shrugged feebly, a slender movement of her shoulders and slight tilt of her head, trying to sound casual about it.

He noticed the blush that had crept on to her cheeks, and he felt his own reddening in response. But his conscience tugged at him, and suddenly he was ridden with guilt. How could he go with her?

And to think he even had it all planned. He'd gotten his hands on a particularly thick and soft bearskin, even acquired especially scented candles from Trader Johann – who assured him those were the latest novelties, and smelled as sweet as the freshest flowers, prone to make any lady sigh in delight. They'd better, considering their cost. He even had a new linen tunic to wear for the occasion, finely embroidered… It was all back in his bedroom.

Some investment that was.

After what he'd been told, would he dare go? To another session of kissing, and caressing her arms, her shoulders, her neck, her back, and – Odin forgive – maybe even her _thighs_ if the Gods were good to him… he shuddered to shake off the gooseprickles, and shook his head in an attempt to scare the ungainly thoughts away.

But they wouldn't go away, and his over-active mind tricked his hands into remembering how her skin felt like, tricked his lips into believing they had her taste upon them, tricked his tongue into searching for hers. He licked his lips as an automatic response, unthinking, but she noticed it nonetheless.

"You're awfully quiet… what are you thinking about?" He suddenly decided the ground to be very interesting. He had _definitely_ not been thinking about kissing her, not at all.

"It's nothing, Astrid. Really," but his gaze was still on the ground. Suddenly he felt like the kid who was always shy around his crush. Like those years of boosted confidence had seemingly gone down the drain.

"Okay," she said, in that tone of voice that suggested she wasn't quite buying it, "I just wanted to be of help. You weren't exactly acting like the Hiccup I know back there," she shrugged. She always tried to act like she didn't really care, but she did.

He knew she was concerned, and he appreciated that. In a way, he was glad she'd found him. But all the while, he was having a hard time having her nearby, conflicted as he was. He thanked her for respecting his privacy, and then they chose to sit under the shade of a large oak tree, admiring the landscape silently.

He loved that companionship between them. They could be around each other doing whatever, no words spoken, and yet it was almost always a comfortable silence, where they just appreciated being together without the rest of the group and their… well… loudness. However, right at this moment it was really loud inside Hiccup's head, what with all the inner turmoil and the tug-of-war of his consciousness.

Like his mind was a battlefield, and none of the sides was anywhere close to becoming victor just yet; but there were already many casualties: his brain cells. Leading them onto battle, both yelling as loudly as possible were two entities, each clad in the finest armour Vikings had ever seen. Much finer armour than ever could be found in Berk, the kind of armour they produced in Lysminnae, the Isle of Wonders it was also called; and indeed it was wondrous. Hiccup should know, he had stumbled upon it while exploring, months ago.

The memories brought a smile to his face. He had hoped he could one day visit again, and he'd even wished Astrid would go with him to this exotic and welcoming place. As if on cue she broke the silence, shaking him from his thoughts.

"Did you bring your sketchbook?" she asked, hopeful – and of course, unaware of Hiccup's wonderings. He hadn't, he'd forgotten to slip it inside his vest this morning before breaking his fast with the gang, so he just shook his head.

"Oh, that's too bad. I like watching you doodle," she said. He made to protest at her jape, but only grunted in amusement as she shimmied on closer to him, her head resting on his naked shoulder, her windswept hair tickling his back. And when her hand came snaking up to hold his, he just squeezed her fingers ever so gently and planted a kiss on the crown of her golden head.

Even though they were sitting on the solid ground, their hearts were soaring through places far higher than their dragons could ever hope to fly to.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER**

* * *

_So! There's that. I wanna do this according to perspectives, not necessarily a character per chapter but I'll go with the flow. :)_

_Opinions? Mistakes? Anything you wanna say? Maybe send some candy my way? Please do!_

_Also: breeches are, basically, pants. Smallclothes are, well, underwear. And though men and women have different smallclothes, of course, the name was the same (if I'm wrong about it please do tell!)_

_As for "Lysminnae" - just some name I came up with..._


	3. Silver for your thoughts?

_What's this? have I decided to update? Yes, Yes I have. Lulz. I know the direction I want from this fic, but getting there's been a bit of a hassle for me. So many stuff I'd like to do and asdhadhsiuhakjhd gosh!_

_I actually rewrote this darn thin half a dozen times, but still feel like I wanted something else out of it. Meh, I don't know. I WANTED to describe a little bit of Astrid - because, come on, describing can be tons of fun - but something was making me wanna just jump into_ whatever.

_But now, that would just seem weird in my head. So bare with me, will ya?_

_I'll thrown in some fluff, because that makes me happy and I had a bad day. Go fluffy!_

_(also, I tried toying with perspectives here...)_

DISCLAIMER: I obviously own nothing. Well, I own my laptop...AND I OWN TEH INTERNETZ.

* * *

**CHAPTER 3 - Silver for your thoughts?**

* * *

She was still worried about him, even though they sat silently under the shade of the oak tree in apparent peace of mind. He was being terribly defensive, and despite the chaste kiss to her head and the entwined hands, she could feel he was tense.

And she didn't like it. She wished she could understand what he was going through so she could help him; she felt like she owed him that much. But even if he was unwilling to tell her, she could at least try to provide him with some support. It had grown into a sort of habit – she would kiss him to reward him for whatever, or cheer him up whenever. She had a feeling they both enjoyed it equally.

Of course, right now a kiss didn't quite seem to cover it, but there were other ways to show support. She could be there for him, and she could show him she cared and that she was not going to pressure him (oh boy, but she wanted to). At this point in her life – and in their relationship, she supposed – she wasn't too concerned about feigning toughness or carelessness anymore. Not that she was going to be all sappy and soft for no reason, or overly romantic, because she did have an image to uphold. She was to be cool and calm and somewhat of a voice of reason, mature and responsible yet caring.

She would try, at least.

But then he broke the silence, suddenly, "Hey, Astrid. Silver for your thoughts."

And she thought **she** was the only one with questions… "Ask away."

He seemed to hesitate before asking, "why do you like me?"

What kind of a question was that? She punched his arm playfully, "You think too much, Hiccup," she told him as she pulled away to sit by herself, plopping her head against the tree instead of on his shoulder.

And there goes calm and caring and soothing. Oh well, she had her ways.

"Well," he continued, mockingly rubbing the spot where she'd hit him, "I guess that sums it up then?"

"Of course it doesn't, you troll!"

"Well, you do hit me a lot," she interrupted him with a quick peck on his lips, "and then you do that, too, which I much prefer."

For a moment they smiled, and she noticed his eyes weren't really following his lips. She sighed.

"I don't know, Hiccup," Astrid said, plucking a daisy from the lush soil and twirling it between her thumb and index finger, "I just do. But why would you want to talk about that all of a sudden, anyway?" she asked, and then she added with a snort, "f_eelings_, of all things."

"Why not? Now's as good a timing as ever, I suppose," Hiccup said, ruffling his damp hair, "unless there's some sort of appropriate occasion for this kind of talk."

She sighed, "It's not like that, but just…" I don't really know what to tell you I'm in love with you, I guess. But can't you already tell?

"Well then, next time remind me to book an appointment," he said, after an awkward pause, "or maybe we could invite the whole village and host weekly meetings. We could all talk about our feelings and braid each others' hairs, share some honeyed wine in the Great Hall."

Which, considering Vikings liked braids, was not at all an unlikely idea.

"Hiccup," she warned, waving her finger at him, "don't start with the jokes."

"Okay, fine. Fine," he replied, pulling his hands up in the air defensively.

"You know I wouldn't let any other girl braid your hair, anyway."

The playful tone in her voice caught him a little by surprise; so he laughed and relaxed into her outstretched arms, all the while fighting back that slight pang of guilt in the back of his head.

Go away, he told it, and leave me alone. But it wouldn't. Sometimes he really hated having a consciousness…

He felt her tug at his braid gently, and run her fingers through his moist hair. She massaged his scalp, and ran her fingers down his neck and between his exposed shoulder blades.

He felt gooseprickles all over when she raked her nails on his bare skin, and shuddered. She chuckled softly at his reaction, absolutely loving having so much of him unclothed under her touch; it made her slightly giddy to have that much contact. It still caught her by surprise sometimes, the way he would make her feel without even knowing it.

It made _him_ feel rather lightheaded, too, and he would not have that. It's a strange thing, to want something so badly but at the same time knowing it's not supposed to happen.

Stupid social norms and people going by them. He wanted to be in control, instead of helplessly torn between what he should do and what he wanted! But should he not do what makes him happiest, even if it means going against what was expected of him?

He gently removed himself from her lap and stood, stretching lazily.

"Come on, we should go riding. Race you?"

"To the cave?" she replied hopefully, standing up with a jump. She loved the cave, and really wanted to go there. He couldn't blame her – he'd been excited to go too, but…

"Um, actually, I don't think today's a good idea. Maybe tomorrow, or after," and then he quickly added, "I'm sorry."

Oh boy. He was doing a bad job keeping his face casual, he knew it.

"Why not?"

And now Astrid wasn't even bothering to conceal her disappointment. Arms crossed over her chest, her right eyebrow riding up her forehead and almost disappearing into her golden hair, her lips set in a thin line.

"My dad," Hiccup had to say _something_, "he said he had some stuff to go through with me tonight. It's… uh, complicated. I really don't wanna talk about it. And I've got work this afternoon too, so it'll be hard to squeeze our date in, so..." he finished off lamely.

Astrid wondered if that was the reason he was so upset. His dad wanted whatever it was with him tonight, so they would have to cancel their plans. But couldn't he have said so earlier? This was strange. Something was definitely up, and she would get to the bottom of it. It wasn't like him to keep things from her.

"But we'll go, right? Before you leave?"

"Sure thing Astrid, we'll go. Don't worry." He felt like he should bite his tongue.

"Promise me," she said stubbornly, eyeing him as he grabbed his tunic from the ground and pulled it on.

He wasn't looking at her when he said, "Promise."

–

When they returned to Berk from their race it was well past lunch time.

They were lucky enough to arrive nigh unnoticed – they just knew everyone would try to poke their noses into why they were away for so long, alone. Fishlegs did cross their path as they made their way to the village plaza, but Astrid dismissed him with one "go-mind-your-own-fucking-business" look.

Hiccup and Astrid parted somewhat awkwardly, despite their seemingly cheerful moods.

Astrid ate her lunch in silence and tended to her chores before heading out for practise axe-throwing during the late afternoon. She needed to let out her mild irritation somehow.

Before long, the tree trunk she'd chosen as a target was gnarled and chopped and her axe's blade was covered in sap. In her turn, Astrid was covered in sweat, rivulets cascading down her forehead and her back, sliding between her breasts and making her leggings stick to her thighs.

Enough of this for today. I'll look for Hiccup and have him sharpen my axe.

Now, _that_ would soothe her some. Every now and then she did enjoy watching him work around the forge, and bringing over her own material was a good excuse to linger there.

Hiccup would usually be too busy to notice how her gaze would become riveted to him as he hammered away in the forge. Especially at night, when the contrast between the darkness and the orange flames of the hearth would outline the steady rhythmic movement of the tug-and-pull of his muscles underneath his sweat-glistened skin.

He was now into the habit of wearing shorter sleeves in the forge, or sleeveless tunics – or no tunic at all during warmer days, for that matter. Thank you, Freyr, for the warm weather.

She had been particularly enthralled on one occasion, as he pushed at the largest bellows that existed in the forge. The device was so large he had to put most of his weight into making it work, so the resulting series of fluid movements of his torso, the flex of his abdomen muscles and the sway of his hips made Astrid think about him working the same rhythm – but under different, erm, circumstances.

She had blushed furiously and excused herself to catch some fresh air outside, wondering when she had ever become so interested in those sorts of things. At first she would scold herself, but eventually figured that, well, she couldn't stop them, and she certainly wasn't going to speak to Gothi the shaman about them. It wasn't a malady, she was sure. It was most likely a common thing.

And she did wonder if Hiccup had the same kind of devious musings. In fact, she hoped he did; it would somehow make her feel better about herself if she knew he she wasn't alone in this. Besides, it would make her feel somewhat **smug **about it.

But Hiccup was not at the forge – she left her axe with Gobber – and apparently nowhere else to be found. Neither was Stoick. Disenchanted, she made to return home, but glanced over at the sea. The sky was setting, so she decided to walk to the peer, sit down, and just drink it all in.

Sunset. Its orange glow seemed to glide gently over everything, as if just passing by; behind it trailed the night-blue darkness of eveningfall. The rim of ginger sky far ahead in the horizon seemed to envelop the centre of the sea with a bright warm halo, some of its color spilling into the deep blue waters of the ocean, mingling together with the waves until it became lost in the currents, giving way to the gloomy dusk.

Somewhere far ahead, she noticed some waves weren't quite waves, but dragon wings. A pack of scauldrons, perhaps.

She headed out home to help prepare dinner, dragging along slowly, occasionally glancing over to the Chief's house. But she didn't see Hiccup anywhere.

I'll go look for him tomorrow, she told herself.

After dinner she cleaned up the cooking area and headed to her own little corner. Now that her sisters were out and married, she had all the more room for herself and her thoughts.

She was lucky enough to have a separate chamber all for her own; most Viking households had only one or two divisions, except for the richest ones – and theirs was not one of those. Still, she had her own space inside, and tonight was particularly thankful for it.

Hiccup's question got her thinking…

Astrid was, as a child, always seen as the ideal Viking female. Tough, somewhat uncaring; even cold and distant, some would say. She trained hard and long, she was her own self-critic, she was always eager to learn and perfect her arts with the axe, her weapon of choice. Not a very feminine weapon at all, but she'd favoured it – and as an added bonus, it made quite the statement.

Astrid is so driven, people would say in admiration.

As she grew into her teens, so did her skill. Her mother, Big-Boobied Bertha, actually decided she would let her daughter favour the battle arts over the household tasks. She liked the distinction, even when her elder sisters teased about how bad she was with cooking and sewing.

But tough and uncaring as she was, driven and focused always on her task – perfecting her battle finesse – something happened that changed everything. Just a little, gradually, but then it grew into something much, much greater.

She had never been one to provoke, or mock or disdain, so she never joined the rest of the kids whenever they decided to poke fun out of Hiccup. As long as he did not get in her way, she saw no need to torment the poor boy further.

She would only get upset and snap whenever he proved to be a nuisance.

But then… well, then, dragon training happened. She grew suspicious of him, and eventually found out his secret.

And after that very first flight, she grew fond of him; actually fond. For years she had no idea what exactly had happened. Now, a woman grown, much more aware of the implications of gender differences, she knew.

That first flight triggered some emotion that had been completely foreign to her. It was not lust, nor physical attraction for that matter; it wasn't even love – they'd been so young. No, she understood that what made him different from the rest also made him amazing, and incredible, and one-of-a-kind.

That made her see him for the first time, and she was completely enthralled by this witty, kind-souled person. He was intelligent, brave, loyal. He was courageous and a strategist, and also bold and willing to take his chances. He was all that, and even the boy's sarcasm had grown into her, now an endearing trait from her perspective.

_No, not a boy anymore…_ He'd grown. They had all grown. But he changed the most, all the while remaining the same. The same sense of humour, the same spirit of loyalty and kindness; yet more intelligent each passing year, more dutiful and mature.

Less accident-prone, which was a big hand-out. And now he could wield a sword.

She never thought that seeing him as a warrior would change any of her feelings toward him, but somehow it did. She could never compare him to the other Vikings though, because he had that extra special something, that uniqueness that made him more than just another smart-alec youth.

How would a sword change that? Well, for starters, it helped her realize they were not children any longer.

He may not be the finest swordsman out there, but – despite his prosthetics – he was quick and even somewhat graceful, much to everyone's astonishment.

Hiccup, proving everyone wrong once again. He makes people learn, and even grow humble. Not a trait many could brag to possess.

But even if he wasn't the strongest out there, he was the most skilled when it came to dragons, and that was entirely a source of power in and of itself. He could fight, and plan ahead, and wasn't as rash and reckless as the others – a Viking strategist was an impressive thing to behold.

And, indeed, impressed she was with every new discovery she made about him.

Sword fighting made him appear manlier, even more so than the shade of thin beard now lining his lower jaw. And while he may not be the buffest youth out there, he had developed lean hard muscles within his slim frame.

Big-Boobied Bertha wasted no time when she noticed her youngest took an interest to the boy; one day she finally commanded Astrid to learn how to properly tend to a household.

Actually, her mother was seemed pleased about it! Astrid had heard two of her older sisters' conversation one day, when they had come to visit – it was then she understood her mother had always thought Astrid would never wed. The day she noticed how well she and Hiccup got along, the Hofferson matron believed it was time to prepare her youngest for the probability of marital life after all.

At that point Astrid had ambushed her sisters, yelling, "I'm never getting married!" but they simply reprimanded her for eavesdropping, and then giggled like they knew something she didn't.

But she still learnt to cook and sew, to clean house and tend to wounds, and worked to perfect those skills nearly as diligently as she had fighting. No matter what, Astrid was still a very, very committed person…

Even if she now wasn't the one-hundred per cent hardcore, I-don't-care-about-you, distant, only-focused-on-training girl. She actually acknowledged what it is to **be** a girl, thanks to Hiccup. Well, a woman.

Not that she was girly by any means, but all the newfound-femininity actually made her feel more confident with herself, more in control of things… even if her hormones sometimes didn't want her to be in control.

Sadly, now she felt like she didn't really have a hand on anything.

What was going on with Hiccup? She needed to figure it out and help him, if possible. And why was she having problems voicing out what she felt? It was silly, and irrational, that she would display affection through her actions but not through her words.

Relationships are so confusing sometimes, she told herself as she pulled on her night gown and slid under the fur blanket. I almost feel like **I'm** making myself confused with all of this. I really shouldn't be upset at him because it's not really his fault, it's just...

She needed to drop that subject or she wouldn't be able to rest, so willed herself to sleep – tomorrow she would have to rise with the dawn – but her mind was filled with things. Some were mundane, some were not, and some of them were focused on him, on her, on them.

Astrid fell into a troubled sleep at first... But then he came to soothe her in her dreams.

She felt a searing fire in her belly, strange but delicious at the same time. She was nowhere, and everywhere at once – and she was naked. It could have been summer, spring or winter; she could have been in her bedchamber or out in the mountains, on a snowy field or even inside the natural saunas in the mountain cave.

But she was never alone, and never cold. Hiccup was with her always, as bare as she was. They moved together, and the temperature would rise with every touch, every shiver and kiss, even though she could not say in detail what they were doing to each other – or even if they really were moving at all. Everything was a vivid blur, a calm turbulence, a serene ecstasy. it was light and dark, soft and hard, and everything else at the same time. Whatever it was, it was simply _good_.

Just before dawn finally came, that fire blazed so hotly that it woke her up, short of breath and disoriented, thrashing under her bearskin covers, slick with sweat and something else.

* * *

END OF CHAPTER 3

* * *

_All done! Some Autor's Notes:_

_*** Freyr** is the Norse god of fair weather._

_*** **Yes, I made up siblings for Astrid. xD this is fiction, after all. And I wwanted to. So yeah._

_*** **Vikings didn't eactly use money or coins, but usually they carried valuables such as silver (which they would cut into pieces according to the value of their purchase). Hence a "silver" instead of a penny for thoughts. :)_

_Speaking of which... silver for YOUR thoughts? Review with your opinions, even ideas or suggestions, corrections, blah blah blahson. Makes me happy to have feedback, ya'll._

_Huggies for your buggies!_

_And fret not. As I said, this will be coming along at my pace... and the beat's about to pick up. :p_


	4. Act like a shieldmaiden

_Here's it is, next chapter! I was sort of disappointed for getting little feedback last time, but then two anonymous reviewers wrote like a review for each chapter in the same day, so I was like, "Hey, that's sweet!"_

_So thanks to everyone who reviewed and read. :) although I prefer when I can reply to you guys!_

_Anyway, be warned: this chapter is not a fun-packed block of text. It's kind of heavy, and a little angsty I suppose...? which usually isn't my style, but seeing as though the situation at hand is a little dramatic, I thought it called for some moodiness. __Plus, it kind of matches how cranky I've been feeling lately, haha._

_Also, I like to explore a character's insecurities, even when they think those insecurities don't exist. We can all become very fragile and irrational when it comes to the people we love._

_Enough chit-chat! I'm babbling!_

**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own anything. Boo!

_EDIT__: _had to do some minor edits of a couple of typos that were irking me, lol. If you see any mistakes, please go on ahead and point them out (and try to pinpoint where). Many thanks!

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR: Act like a shieldmaiden.**

* * *

The Chief of The Hairy Hooligans sat at the table in his house, silently watching the fire burn out in the hearth, his lunch half-eaten and getting cold. Gobber was keeping him company while he waited for his son to come back home, even though company wasn't quite something the Chief really needed right now.

Stoick half wanted to yell, half wanted to hug his son. It was a weird concept for him. In his own mind, Stoick believed Hiccup was now a man grown and had to take upon certain responsibilities, and keeping the peace was one of them.

But on the other hand, Hiccup was still his little boy. Still clumsy, still sarcastic, smart as always, and inventive. Always helpful and kind, always curious and stubborn.

He wanted to scoop the man-boy into his arms and make him little again. He wish he could balance that freckled, auburn-haired little lad on his knee once more, tell him the great tales of their ancestors all over again, give him his first wooden sword one more time, or watch Valhallarama brush the giggling toddler's hair until it became untangled... It seemed so long ago now.

Oh, Val… what have I done to our boy? I hate to have to put him in this position, but what else can I do? What would you do?

"Stoick," Gobber said, breaking the long silence.

"Mmmmm," was all the reply he got.

"Yer gunna hurt yerself, thinkin' so much."

"I'm fine, Gobber."

"Yer not _fine_, Stoick," his friend said, using his fake hand – where he had attached his favourite drinking mug – to push a cup of mead towards the Chief, "an' tha's totally understandable."

"It's Hiccup I'm worried about," the burly viking replied, slanting deeper onto the table.

"Ya haven't slept well in days. Ya need to be on yer toes. Think this over again."

"It's his **future**, Gobber, his future," Stoick vigorously rubbed his face in his enormous hands, but that did nothing to wipe off the sad look and tired eyes, "and his future is my future also. But I can't… I can't risk another war. Not now."

"Maybe ye don't havta," Gobber said, sipping from his cup, "there's always that _other_ option –"

"I won't go there, Gobber, I've told you."

And before they could exchange another word, the door to the house slowly opened with a loud creak, to reveal his son standing in the doorway, a determined look on his face.

"Dad, we need to talk."

That was Gobber's cue to leave.

"Well, I'm goin' off ter… ya know, mind ma smithy an' all that. Busy day, gotta change ma hand, look at the time!" He said as he slipped – more like gravitated – around Hiccup and left through the door, closing it with an even louder squeak.

"That door needs some oilin'," Stoick just wanted to make conversation at this point.

"Yeah."

A chilly silence settled between them as Hiccup moved to sit at the table across his father, his back turned to the dying fire. Hiccup was the first to talk.

"How can you do this to me, Dad?"

"There doesn't seem to be a choice, Hiccup. I either respond to them in their terms or they attack."

"And the Bunkerheads, of all of them!" Hiccup said, flailing his arms around in the air, "Couldn't you have found a lovelier bunch of bloodthirsty folk? Might as well just toss me straight into Hel's pits."

"They're a powerful and rich tribe, and could prove a valuable ally!"

"They're rich because they plunder and steal! They're really setback, Dad, even for Vikings. They believe chopping a man's head off makes them smarter," he said with distaste, "but I mean, how many headless men does it take to make a Bunkerhead smarter? Nobody knows the answer, because they're still idiots! **And** they still hate dragons!"

"They have weird traditions, I know that," Stoick insisted,"and we'll have to change their minds about the dragons, son. If anyone can do it, I know it's you."

"How, dad? They don't listen to anyone. Why would it be any different this time around? I've tried before, and it did **not** go well," Hiccup made a face, certainly recalling when he and Toothless had tried to prove to the Bunkerheads that dragons could be trusted. They had nearly been skewered.

"I'm betting they only want this so they can force us into using our dragons for their warmongering," Hiccup concluded, rubbing his temples with the tips of his fingers.

"Son, this time they want to make sure dragons are not a threat. I'm sure they've… become more open-minded since last time," Stoick fidgeted with his moustache uneasily, "an' we all know Athole wants power and status, son."

"And how'm I gonna help him with that?" his son rose from the table, nervously pacing around the common chamber, an inquisitory brow raised, "with my mountain-sized muscles and amazing prestige?"

"Don't play dumb, boy. You know wha' they call ya out there," Stoick said, sweeping his huge hand in front of him to emphasize his point, "Yer the 'Dragon Conquerer'."

Hiccup scoffed at the title.

"Talk about role-reversal. It kind of looks like they're about to conquer me instead, huh?"

"An arranged marriage is not the end of the world, Hiccup. You'll learn that in the future," but truthfully Stoick didn't believe his own words.

"What _future_, Dad? This is definitely **not** how I imagined it! It's like everything I wish I could do with my life is about to come to a short drop and a quick stop."

"Nobody is going to hang you, son. An' trust me when I say this isn't what I wished for you either, but life goes on – "

"Then why does it feel like there's a rope tied around my neck?" Hiccup thrust his hand to his neck and gave it a slight squeeze, "The Bunkerheads made it, and you were the one who threw it at me."

"Ye got it all wrong!" Stoick bellowed, punching the table so mightily the wood splintered, but he took no notice, "That rope's not tie around yer neck! It's in yer hands, son, and it's pulling Berk away from danger!"

"That's not true," and by now Hiccup's stare was locked towards Stoick, "I feel like it's going to put us through more danger than anything else. Because you know they're only after power and titles, they're _conquerors_, the _bad_ kind of conquerors, and Odin knows whether they'll keep to their word or not! So why put me through this? Why risk…" the young man looked around frantically, as if searching for the right word, but he only groaned in frustration instead.

He saw his son slump down on the floor and cross his legs, now facing the almost faded fire, poking the few hot coals around. He mussed his hair, a habit he'd grown into. Stoick almost didn't hear him when he spoke.

"I'm in love, Dad…"

These words weighed down on Stoick so much that he needed to sit back on the bench. He didn't even realize he had stood up.

Fact is, Stoick already knew – for a very long time, and it didn't take a detective to see it – that the thing between his son and the Hofferson girl wasn't just a youngster's crush. It bloomed and it grew, and now… here they were. And Stoick had done nothing about it.

No, not nothing. He had actually encouraged it, turning somewhat of a blind eye to their little moments and escapades, even dropping a few hints and incentives now and then. Hiccup was a young man, after all, so he thought it was healthy for him to have someone romantically close – and it gave him some absurd sense of pride in his child. Any Viking man wants his male offspring to be successful with the ladies, though there was always somewhat of a danger factor in courtship.

But this wasn't the case. Stoick remembered when Astrid's parents suggested they bind their children through contract, because they seemed like they would want to be together. It would make them happy. It would be safe for them. So they made the offer.

It would be safe indeed… By Thor, Bertha Hofferson was right. She was right, and we had no idea. But I decided to wait. I didn't want to force it. I postponed it. _I did this_.

Stoick rubbed the back of his head and exhaled deeply. He needed some fresh air and a long walk, probably even a few more gallons of mead.

"Let's talk outside, son. We'll walk to clear our heads. There's somethin' I need to tell you, but I can't in here."

-_o_-_o_-

That night, Hiccup couldn't sleep at all. He dreaded the dragon training in the morning – he was supposed to meet up with the gang in the arena to test out some flight formations for aerial combat – but he was petrified about meeting with Astrid again.

He needed to try to avoid her, for both their sakes. Until he felt ready to tell her the ugly truth, if ever he could muster it.

When he finally rose from his bed in the morning, he felt more anguished and exhausted than ever. Even putting on his clothes was a task. His father's words kept replaying in his mind, and he couldn't shake them off.

His stomach was too tight for him to break his fast before heading out. The day was colder today, and he welcomed the slap of cool summer air on his cheeks as he and Toothless rode together out in the skies. The loud whistling of the wind in his ears did nothing to distract him, and the flap of Toothless' large wings brought him no comfort.

They had killed one of Berk's envoys just to make a point, his father had told him the previous day while they walked together in the woods. They'd sent the man's head back in a bag, with a dangerous threat inside. They were in peril, and there was no denying it.

Sure, they had dragons to fight them if need be. But they were a very large clan, well-armored, rich and powerful. How many losses would…?

No. No, stop it. Concentrate on landing smoothly right now…

Of course, he was the first to arrive. Fishlegs appeared soon after, followed shortly by the twins and Snotlout – who had apparently been woken up by the Thorstons in a very rude and sudden way, and was trying to catch up to them.

Hiccup sighed as he oiled Tootless' saddle; it was going to be a long morning.

They were all gathered inside the dragon-training arena. All of them, save for Astrid. That was terribly odd, because Astrid always arrived earliest, even sooner than Hiccup, or they'd come to the arena together. But Hiccup tried not to let it bother him, since it was better for him to get things ready without having to have her distracting presence nearby.

By the time Hiccup had finished going around to explain the order of their aerial formations – and how they'd do them if Astrid didn't show up – Snotlout had already properly woken up and was excitedly telling the tale of how his last mischief.

"… And then she comes out of the river and realizes her clothes were **gone**," Snotlout waved his beefy arms about in the air above his head, "and she runs around naked and screaming! Man, you should have seen it," he hollered, doubling over with laughter, "her tits were like jumping up and down when she ran, it was awesome!"

Fishlegs seemed uncomfortable, but Tuffnut hooted along happily. Ruffnut just rolled her eyes, barely concealing her twisted smile, and punched her brother on the arm.

Hiccup unenthusiastically watched them argue and squabble around. He clearly lacked patience for these types of ramblings at the moment. A fleeting thought of throwing on his specialized riding gear and going off on another lone trip crossed his mind briefly.

"Okay guys, guess Astrid's not coming. Come on, let's get it on with," he announced, "before Ruffnut becomes twin-less. Actually, that wouldn't be all that bad – "

"Fuck off, Hiccup," Tuffnut grumbled, spitting out a little bit of fresh blood. Ruffnut seemed pleased with herself as usual.

"Well, if someone tells me I 'fight like a girl' again, I'll feel honored," he mumbled. "Okay gang, ready for liftoff. Follow my instructions to the Tee!"

And they were off.

With years of practice, they'd gotten much better at flying with their dragons. But it was still somewhat hard to get everyone to make the perfect moves. Meatlug was too slow and heavy, Hookfang was slightly less unruly but still wild, Barf and Belch was being… well, the usual uncoordinated move now and then wasn't all that bad.

Astrid. Hiccup truly enjoyed racing with her, teaching her new techniques for flight or dragon-combat. Practising with her was great… should he do it ever again? After he was married to that stranger, should he still get along with Astrid?

Wouldn't it be dangerous?

Absurdly, he envisioned them being forbidden lovers, running away together under the cover of the night's darkness to have their romantic escapades, while his wife – which he imagine was going to be a horrid-looking girl with a foul temper to match – sat home alone and drank herself to a stupor.

He was quite distracted with the idiotic thoughts, so he didn't even realize Astrid had caught up with them. And when Fishlegs appeared by his side yelling into the wind – announcing her arrival –, Hiccup was so startled he almost fell from his saddle. Consequently, he twisted his prosthetic foot on the wrong position, causing Toothless to slightly lose balance and jab the tip of his wing on Snotlout's face, who screamed and made Hookfang turn around and collide into the twins. Astrid started yelling at the lot of them while Fishlegs only whimpered around and cried his apologies to Hiccup, who told him to fly the fuck away or he'd tell Toothless to shoot a fireball at him. In the meantime, Astrid had to go and rescue Tuffnut from falling into the sea.

Down below in Berk, some of the townsfolk observed the Defenders of Berk and their spectacle, pointing and laughing and poking jokes.

When they finally landed in the arena, Hiccup was far beyond irritated. He was genuinely pissed, especially because he knew it was his own fault he wasn't paying attention.

"What was wrong with you Hiccup?" Snotlout demanded angrily, still groping his nose, "don't tell me Fishlegs scared you!"

"I was distracted, okay? I was thinking!"

"Well, if you did less thinking and more flying, maybe we wouldn't have nearly died!"

Hiccup sighed. His cousin could take the crown of all the drama queens sometimes.

"Snotlout, if **you** did any less thinking you'd be sheep droppings."

"Say that again!"

"Girls, girls, you're both pretty," Astrid interrupted, and Hiccup winced at the sound of her voice, "but you're making my head ache with your babble. Hiccup said he's sorry, he just has a lot on his plate right now."

"Speaking of which," Tuffnut smirked, "You wouldn't happen to have been his main course last night, huh?"

That earned him a mighty punch to the face.

"Next time, I swear I'll let you fall, Tuffnut," she bristled, flicking her blonde fringe with her hand as if she hadn't just brutally punched someone with it.

"Not that I have to explain myself, **but** I, uh, had a bunch of stuff to do at home before I could come over here," she said.

"So you fell asleep?" Fishlegs asked, immediately regretting it under her dagger-filled stare.

"Astrid needed her _beauty sleep_," Ruffnut teased.

"I'm guessing it's Hiccup's fault. Did you keep her up all night? Because –," Tuffnut began, but Hiccup and Astrid cut him off immediately with a synchronized "_SHUT UP_!"

Much to the others' amusement, both Hiccup and Astrid had a tinge of dark red splattered on their cheeks. The others all snickered as they tried to unsuccessfully disguise the change in color.

"Well Astrid, I don't think you _need_ any beauty sleep," Snotlout said tentatively, in his usual wannabe-seductive fashion. Hiccup was about to argue with his cousin when Astrid spoke up.

"Drop it already, Snotlout. It's like you keep forgetting I _have_ a boyfriend and that I did _not_ choose _you_."

Hiccup's heart dropped to his feet. How could he resist this woman? Even knowing what he knew, it would be a struggle.

"Well, I don't get it," Snotlout protested, deflated, "how come you see _him_" – he pointed at Hiccup – "as the better alternative over _me_," and he gestured to himself with his oversized arms and hands.

"Trust me: even if Hiccup wasn't around, I'd never consider you as a personal choice," Astrid placed her hands on her hips in that pose she liked so much.

"Ooooh, burn!" Tuffnut exclaimed.

"We'll see who's burning when I sick Hookfang on you."

"Everyone's having a go at me today," the male Thorston complained.

"Okay, you guys, how about we wrap it up on formations for today?" Hiccup said. He had no patience for this anymore today, none at all.

"How about a race?" Fishlegs suggested, excited, and all the others nodded. Hiccup took one long look at Astrid who, oddly enough, discretely avoided eye contact. There was a pink tinge on her cheeks again.

"You guys go on ahead. I, uh, need to take care of some things at the forge before I meet up with my dad, so…"

A lame excuse, but he wanted to get away. He needed to. He should find the courage to talk to Astrid, but he needed to plan his words carefully first. He needed to brace himself, and the sooner the better.

He didn't see her again that day. Sure, he was trying to avoid her, but she didn't come looking for him either. The craven in him felt somewhat of a relief, even though he wanted to understand why she was being evasive.

If only he knew…

The thing was, Astrid hadn't been able to get over that vivid dream she'd had. Even mundane chores reminded her of something to do with him. It was embarrassing, and she hoped that by staying away for a little while she would go back to normal. She felt like blushing just by looking at him, and for some absurd reason she was now somehow afraid he'd be able to read her mind or something like that, so she went about her business and left him to his.

Must be that time of the month coming around. She was regular, and always had a feeling that on the week before her Moon's Blood she was somehow more needy, but this was getting a bit out of control. One night of raunchy dreams was enough, she didn't need the following day to feel awkward.

Thankfully, that night she had a dreamless sleep, and the next day she felt fine. No weird and embarrassing thoughts, no inconvenient desires. But she did feel like hanging out with him; she liked the time they spent together, even if it was just for the opportunity to tease him for his new inventions and ideas (which, secretly, she actually found more interesting than amusing).

After going down to the market to fetch some supplies for her mother, Astrid decided to check if Hiccup was in the forge with Gobber.

Come to think about it, Hiccup was also sort of avoiding her. Wasn't he? Maybe it was all in her head. He had been busy, after all.

She was surprised to see the Chief at the forge, talking to Gobber in hushed tones. She wasn't the one to eavesdrop, but she heard them mentioning Hiccup in the conversation and wound up finding herself walking very, very slowly towards the smithy.

"It's going to have to be today, Gobber. We must tell everyone to meet at the Common Hall."

"Ya think he's had time to talk to the Hofferson girl about it, Stoick?"

There was some clanking while Gobber lifted a crate and searched for some tools in it, so Astrid was unable to pick up part of the conversation.

"… and even if he hasn't, I need to announce the wedding offer, Gobber."

The words were so shocking to her that she didn't even manage to listen to anything else. All she could hear was the rushing of her own blood leaving her brain, and the frantic pounding of her heart inside her ribcage.

What was the meaning of this? After her head stopped spinning she was beginning to think about barging in, but by then another customer approached the forge. She turned around, trying to pretend she wasn't eavesdropping, trying to keep from dropping the basket of groceries on the floor, and sprinting around to look for Hiccup.

She walked in the fastest pace she could muster, all the while wracking her brain over what she'd just heard. Wedding offer? Hiccup? And her?!

And Hiccup was supposed to tell her something… were they getting married and she had no idea there was a contract? She never thought her parents would sign one without even consulting her. She thought they had more respect for her than that!

And Hiccup.

She had no idea what she was going to do with him when she found him, but she knew she could get creative in a moment's notice. He hadn't told her anything! Was that why he was avoiding her?

"Have you seen Hiccup?" she asked Fishlegs, who happened to be passing by in the town square at that moment.

"Nope," he replied airily, "haven't seen him since yesterday."

She asked about him to a couple more townsfolk, but nobody seemed to have seen him today. He better be hiding out. It was the smart thing to do.

It was nearing lunch time when she finally remembered she still had the grocery basket to return to her house, so she made her way back with sombre determination. She felt like she wanted to rip the ground asunder with every step she took, her breath uneven and shaken. She wanted to yell at her parents and scream bloody Hel at them.

So when her mother came strolling through the house, ready to take the groceries from her, Astrid basically dropped the basket on the floor of the chamber, a part of its contents falling on the ground.

"Astrid!" her mother exclaimed, "what's the meaning of this?" Astrid had **never** disrespected her parents before. She felt somewhat rebellious at that exact moment.

"You tell me," she growled, leering at her mother's towering figure. Her father sat at the bench in the corner; he paused from sharpening his knife and looked at her.

"Explain," came his low rumbling voice from the back of the common chamber.

"You didn't ask me. You didn't talk to me about it," and she was surprised to notice her eyes stung ever so slightly. She felt betrayed and offended, because they went behind her back.

"About what, child?" her mother enquired, still confused.

"I'm NOT A CHILD, mother!"

Her father rose from his spot and walked slowly toward her and her mother.

"Then explain yourself properly, like a woman would."

"The wedding contract," she breathed out, the thoughts rushing through her mind haphazardly and spilling from her mouth, "You should have told me about it."

Her parents fell silent and exchanged guilty glances between them. Oh, yeah, now they feel bad about it. Sure.

"We're sorry, lass," her father said, much to her surprise.

"I wish things would have been different. Maybe if we'd offered sooner…"

Sooner? That made no sense. But she didn't want sense now, or apologies. She wanted to just be mad, and that was that.

"Maybe you could have talked to me about it. _That_ would have been different," she spat, unimpressed by their apologetic looks.

"We tried, dear, but the Chief said we'd wait. To give you both time to grow more," her mother seemed really saddened, "but we thought… Nay, we knew that if ye had to bind yourself to anyone, t'would be the Haddock boy."

"We didn't mean for this t'happen, child."

Her father wasn't really the type of man to offer comfort. This did not sound right.

"Mother, Father, I'm not saying you're… not right… about that," she blushed, "but I deserved to be consulted on this matter. I mean – "

A mightily loud horn boomed in the background. It was a summoning call for the tribe's folk to gather for news.

Was the Chief announcing it now? Without summoning her and her family to stand before the witnesses? Where was Hiccup? Something odd was up. Her stomach tightened; she left her household in a hurry, ignoring her parents' calls.

The horn boomed again, making her stomach clench even tighter and her heart jump uncomfortably.

She appeared in the Town square just in time to see Gobber blow the horn a third time, yelling, "Your Chief commands you to gather in the Great Hall!"

He disappeared inside the enormous doors, followed by a crowd. She tried to push past them, but there were so many villagers already inside.

In the centre of the Great Hall, Stoick stood next to his son – when had Hiccup returned? – who kept his eyes on the ground the entire time.

Astrid couldn't force herself to push forward anymore. She sensed something was off; she tried to read off Hiccup's face, but he never lifted it.

When the bulk of the village was gathered inside, Stoick spoke up.

"My clansmen, and women! I have an important announcement for you all," he spoke in a voice that carried all the way outside of the Great Hall, but it was not a voice filled with emotion. No pride, no happiness, no enthusiasm. Nothing. Blank.

"My son, Hiccup," he boomed, gesturing his arm in the slumped young man's direction, "is to be wed."

The crowd cheered. They whooped, and clapped, and some called loudly for a feast, clanking their mugs on stone and wood. Astrid felt anxious; she should be there next to Hiccup, with her parents beside her. Why weren't they?

She felt so lost, so confused. The people around her noticed she was there, and as soon as they did they too fell as silent as she was. They knew something was not right. Everyone knew about her and Hiccup.

She held her breath, nervously.

"In order to guarantee an alliance with the Bunkerhead clan," he proceeded, and this time Stoick's voice seemed genuinely hollow, as if he was announcing someone's death. The cheering died down almost abruptly. Nobody was clanking their mugs anymore. She saw Hiccup cross his arms in front of his stomach, as if he was bracing himself; eyes still downcast.

"Hiccup will be marrying Bergthora, daughter of Chief Athole 'The Blister' of the Bunkerhead clan."

Astrid couldn't tell if she'd gone suddenly deaf, or if there was a total absence of sound. But one thing she could tell – she had been stabbed, and the pain was so sickening she feared she might retch in the spot. The room closed in on her, and suddenly it was much too hot to allow for breath.

Someone strong held on to her just at the right moment; she had become so light-headed. She vaguely noted it was her father. He shook her, then, and her hearing returned.

She could hear hushed voices. She could hear some indignant cries. But, mostly, she could hear the pitiful comments from the people surrounding her. She looked around in confusion. Perhaps she was still dreaming. Reflexively, she put her hand to her chest to check if there was a dagger lodged in her heart, but there was nothing showing on the outside… she felt it there, though. In her.

Somewhat dazed, she let her father lead her outside the Hall, where it was thankfully cool. She could hear the crowd, they seemed to be demanding explanations. She wondered if they were rooting for her, or something similar.

Her father shook her again, "Snap out of it, child!"

And she did. She snapped out just in time to hear Hiccup calling out to her – he must have seen the commotion around her and went out to meet her. He called her name, and she heard his steps – a sharp metallic clank, a soft thud of his boot – getting closer and closer.

Her reflexes kicked in then, and she spun around just in time to deliver an earth-shattering slap to Hiccup's face. She watched him loose his balance, slightly pleased that she'd caught him off guard and sent him reeling to the ground. She hoped it would leave a mark.

No time for words. No need for them, either. She flew down the stairs of the Great Hall, stifling the unwelcomed tears misting her eyes and mentally kicking herself for having such a… such an un-viking like reaction. She was no tame, soft maiden of the non-viking tribes. Only those weak foreign girls from the East would ever react the way she had; it was embarrassing to have shown such weakness and vulnerability with her people watching.

Never again. She was Astrid, the cool and collected young warrior, who kept to herself and cared for no-one. She was a person who focused only in her goals, nothing else. She was a shieldmaiden, and would act as one. She would leave no room for self-pity, and would not tolerate it from others.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER**

* * *

_Poor Astrid! And poor Hiccup! I'm so vile... Now what?_

_Thoughts? Reviews? Gummy bears? :)_


	5. Blister in the Sun(shine)

_Hello my lovelies! First off, thank you for the reviews. You guys rock my socks and make me wanna DO MORE, ya know? Motivation, inspiration, whoo!_

_Also: this chapter (and the next, at least) have some, erm, foul language. Hope nobody's affected too badly by it. This is rated T, after all, but I don't know if the language I used can push it to an M yet. Don't think so, but we'll see._

_Let us remind ourselves that they ARE Vikings, and though the Hairy Hooligans seem somewhat gentil, some other ones were most certainly not and we all know how foul some people could/can be, right? Anyone here also into Game of Thrones? Just for a contextualization purpose, I mean._

_There. I ramble again. Oh, I used a quote from the books that I thought was wonderful. Props to whoever picks up on it. ;)_

**DISCLAIMER**: I just own my kitty cats. No, not own; I house them and feed them and clean them, hence I'm their slave and I love it. Because they're fuzzy.

Also, if you pick up on any typos let me know, though it's helish to pinpoint them in long texts... :p

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX: Blister in the Sun(shine).**

* * *

Somewhere far from Berk, a girl sat with her back to the window of her chambers, her fingers mindlessly but skilfully guiding the needle and thread to form a pretty pattern on the silk shirt she worked on.

Vikings did not usually admire the delicate things, but she did. The girl was completely unlike her father, who was crude and brutal, while she adored the sweetness of a fresh flower's fragrance, the touch of soft fabric on her skin, or the sound of a young child laughing.

All the nice things her father did possess were because of the message they shouted to the world – _I'm filthy rich!_ – and not because of their beauty or comfort. He loved his blood-stained leathers the best, but lavish fabrics and expensive gemstones were a way to make a statement, in his opinion. And most of them he'd ripped from the dead bodies of their previous owners.

Vikings admired combat skill, strength and size, bright blue eyes, long blonde hair. She had none. Under the sunlight, however, her hair may appear almost yellow; but it was only a light chestnut color, dull and lifeless, brittle as her health.

Her father would often make rude remarks about her hair – "_No suitors'll ever care for that mop on yer head, I'm tellin' ya. Best mind that. Lucky ye were born from yer mother, she's lot kinder 'an me. Get out._"

She'd always known, since she was very little. Her father hated her hair, hated her frail figure, hated her brown eyes and her kindness and her womanhood. He favoured his bastard son best – strong, healthy, as mean and unkind as he was.

But his bastard son would not lead their clan unless he got his little sister out of the way. She would sometimes fear for her life, and she knew that her mother – whose strong inheritance from the Bog-Burglar islands protected her from her husband's wrath – had prevented that from happening.

But now Mother is sick, and I am to be killed unless I am wed…

Her father's unkind words often replayed in her mind:

"_No suitors'll ever care for that mop on yer head._"

Yet her father was wrong. Someone did care. Someone liked her hair. And her eyes, and her cheeks, and her smile, and her kindness…

But she was not free. She was her father's property, to do as he saw fit. She was promised to another; a stranger for whom she held no love. Nevertheless, she must play her part, or live no longer. She was good at it, at masking her feelings – years of beatings under her father's immense hands had taught her the art of deceit well. She would not show emotions.

However, whenever she was alone, she would cry freely. And now she cried; for herself, for her mother, for the man she loved.

The loud cringe of her chamber's door being opened startled her. It was her mother, telling her it was time. It was time to move away to that other island.

She was never to see her mother again – with her health so deteriorated, her mother could not withstand any voyage. She was never to see the face of her beloved. But if fate showed her any kindness – and she prayed to _Wyrd_ (1) every night for the chance – she would also never have to be subjected to her father's cruelty again.

She would be free.

Even so, as she bid farewell to her mother the tears streamed from her face in single lines, droplets falling from her chin onto the silk; and while they were suspended in mid-air, in that fraction of a second before they landed and softly shattered, the sunlight reflected in them like tiny round diamonds.

* * *

Back on Berk...

Hiccup felt like crap. He was in the disposition to loathe every fucking thing. He loathed waking up. He loathed eating breakfast. He loathed having to greet people when he stepped out of his home – and by greeting, I mean he vaguely nod his head at whoever spoke to him.

He loathed the word loathe, and even the fucking warm weather was making him want to curse the Gods.

He only looked up to look at Snotlout when he passed him by. His cousin's eye was healing decently; it wasn't swollen anymore, and the bruise seemed less gruesome. According to Fishlegs – Hiccup had not been present at the time – the immediate day after the Chief's "grand" announcement, Snotlout once again tried his luck with Astrid by asking her if, now that Hiccup was taken to another woman, she would finally succumb to his charms.

Obviously it was his eye that succumbed to her fist instead, and apparently it took both the twins and Fishlegs to stop Astrid from dragging Snotlout by the legs and throwing him off the docks.

The moron had a death wish, for sure.

Hiccup lightly touched the cheek where Astrid's had hit with God-like force the week before. More agonizing than the physical pain, of course, was the emotional one. It was not so the impact of her hand, but that fraction of a second when, after he hit the ground, he saw the disappointment plastered all over her face.

She felt hurt and betrayed, and he could relate to that. He understood.

He still blamed himself for it, and his father for not allowing him more time to set things straight. He wanted to have taken Astrid out to somewhere discrete and explain everything properly; how they were in danger, how he wanted to protect the peace, and her life, and just how much he loved her and always would... that, mainly.

He didn't tell her how he felt. That was the worst part.

Six days had passed since the announcement. The Bunkerhead clan's representatives had arrived since two days. They had already set sail when Stoick first told Hiccup about the engagement; they would have come to Berk anyway, whether there was to be a wedding or bloodshed.

And so the overall mood in the village was dreadfully somber. The relatively peaceful Hairy Hooligans were very wary of the Bunkerheads, and the first night had not helped at all. Those people were brawlers, and mostly drunks, so there were a few incidents – two bar fights, and a barmaid was ravaged.

It wasn't normal for them to be fearful in Berk. And _in their own homes_, of all places. But these were unwelcomed folk, and very hard to deal with. They were stronger in numbers and were armed in a multitude of fine weaponry, and under the command of their leader Athole, they held the allegiance – or rather, the fear – of two other viking tribes.

It was a battle lost before it could even start. Everyone knew it, and in a way every citizen in Berk seemed to understand the implications of a denial. They had somehow been caught in the cross-fire of a war they didn't really want to be a part of; a war for the power to rule over the Barbaric Archipelago.

To even believe that there could ever be a man to rule such a miscellaneous bunch of Norsemen was nothing short of delusional in most sane people's minds, but there was no stopping a fool with a purpose. Especially a powerful fool.

In the end, Hiccup convinced himself he could not blame his father for all this. As a Chief he did the best he could. Yes, Stoick could certainly call for other allies as well – the Merciless Meatheads have been clashing with the Brawling Bunkerheads for generations now – , but most were far off and would never reach them in time, should a battle ensue.

There was nothing to be done. So Hiccup resigned to his fate and let go of the idea of being happy with Astrid. The rest of the Bunkerheads would arrive within the following week, with his bride – he loathed the idea of her, too – and her despicable father to attend to all the formalities.

"A Chief must show no fear, no worry... A Chief is a leader first, and a man second," his father had told him once.

Hiccup needed to be a leader – it was his duty by blood and honor toward the people of Berk, as future Chief of the Hairy Hooligans. So he was to be wed within the fortnight.

Or he would be dead, if he followed his heart.

* * *

Astrid grimaced on a regular basis now. In the two weeks since the announcement was made in the Hall, she could not find a reason to be happy about anything.

She knew her parents were concerned for her, but concerns would not fix anything. No, the trick was to move on ahead and push away any Hiccup-related event that could be considered remotely romantic. Or any Hiccup-related event, period.

The rollercoaster of emotions she had felt in the days that followed the event ranged from heartbroken, to profoundly sad, to resolute and ruthless, to miserable and forlorn, to angry. Very much angry.

How could they have betrayed her? Her parents, who had suggested a marriage agreement to the Chief without consulting her; who found out about the counter-offer from the Bunkerheads and told her nothing. The Chief, whom she used to regarded with respect and admiration, had also cheated her. Hiccup, for obvious reasons, was the worst.

With their actions and omissions they all led to that one, extremely humiliating event. And she would not be humiliated again, or allow herself to mope over someone who'd shown so little regard toward her feelings.

She set her own goals. Do not talk to him. Don't cry over him. Don't think about him. Concentrate on yourself, on getting better and stronger. Love can't grow in this Gods-forsaken world, so don't waste your energies with it. Be free of any man, you don't need one to be happy. You'll always be a shieldmaiden, and nothing else. No husband, no one to be tied to. Freedom and battles is what awaits, nobody can take that away from you.

But at night she was vulnerable, and would often break the promises she made to herself during the day. She would cry, and sob, and sigh. Sometimes she would even clutch her pillow, hoping it would somehow morph into him. She would dream of days past, of kisses and caresses once shared, and in her dreams there was nobody else but them.

"I'm telling you, girl, I'm your typical lovestruck teenager," she sighed that one misty morning as she brushed Stormfly's spikes and scales with her hands. It was the day the main Bunkerhead vessels were supposed to arrive. A welcoming committee was to be arranged, and obviously she wanted to be as far away from it all as possible.

She often thought of going rogue, of leaving Berk and offering her battle skills somewhere else. After all, what was left for her there? Her parents, whom she'd lost faith on, and the reminders of a love torn so suddenly?

She played around with Stormfly's saddle for some time, wondering where she would go. Maybe to Bashem. They seemed amiable enough. But the road ahead was far, and she would need supplies, maybe even some of Hiccup's specialized riding equipment…

There he goes again. Slipping into my mind one more time. This needs to stop. I need to get over him. I need to let go. I need to **go**.

Maybe this whole event would prove useful to her after all.

* * *

Hiccup's palms were sleek with sweat. He was anxious and nervous. His stomach churned for the umpteenth time.

As he stood there in the docks, the itchy ceremonial clothing nearly forced onto him, all he kept wishing for was that the monstrous main vessel would vanish from existence.

But it didn't. It just kept getting closer and closer, growing from afar in the horizon, creeping in like some ominous Changewing readying to spit its venom. The sea ought to swallow them. The Red Death ought to rise from Helheim to destroy their whole stinking fleet. Thor ought to strike them with ten thousand lightning bolts. Him and the rest of the gang – heck, the rest of the village – ought to ride their dragons and set them all on fire.

But no such thing. It just docked, unscathed and huge, and the plank was lowered - out came the monstrous-looking Athol. No wonder they called him "The Blister".

His face – what was visible through the mane of messy black beard – was full of them, some red ones and some white ones mingled with dozens of scars. Some of those were battle scars, the others were craters left behind by the disgusting eruptions. Not as large as Stoick, or as tall, but menacing all the same.

What a sight to behold, indeed. Hiccup wonder if the girl would take to her father. Not that it mattered to him; he didn't care about what other girls might look like. He was in love with the one.

Hiccup watched everything like he was far, far away. He wanted to detach himself from what was happening at that moment, and for that he created his own little world in his head – even if it was just for a few fleeting moments.

As his father and the Chief of the Brawling Bunkerheads exchanged cold greetings (and there were some nasty quips from Athole, Hiccup remotely noted) he pictured the man would have an anvil dropped on him. It would be Astrid, riding Stormfly, to drop the weight.

When the abhorrent man approached Hiccup to greet him, Hiccup very much wished Toothless would show up and drag the man from the dock and into the sea, to drown him. But Toothless was hidden away, so as not to make this whole crap of an event worse than it already was.

The dragons would be introduced later on, after things had quieted down.

"So this is yer boy, Stoick," The Blister said, his voice dripping with disdain, "he's a lo' prettier than my Bergthora, tha's fer sure."

Hiccup must've made a face then, because the man's noisy laughter was followed by a remark that really proved he was as hideous on the inside as he was on the outside.

"Dun' worry mah boy," The Blister flashed his deformed, rotting teeth at him. Probably drinks his mead with too much honey, "she's got sum nice titties fer you t'play wif, so ye won't get bored lookin' at her nasty face. Ye can shove a bag o'er her head fer all I care! BERGTHORA! WHE'RE YE AT!"

A girl came stumbling from the docked vessel's gangplank, followed by a hefty young man who patently resembled Athole – same greasy hair, same scars on his red oily face. Probably his bastard son.

She was clad in a saffron-colored dress, heavily embroidered with gold-spun thread. It was not a modest dress; it clung tightly to the girl's frame and dipped deeply at the neck, revealing a heavy cleavage adorned with an intricate gold necklace littered with an assortment of gemstones. Despite being summer, she wore her sleeves long and heavy, a brocade of delicate white lace erupting lavishly around her hands where her sleeves ended, and around her cleavage line.

The most striking thing to notice about her was that she did not look like she was even remotely related to the repugnant man who fathered her. Her skin was pale white, transparent almost, but it was spotless as a starless night.

Hiccup did not find her beautiful. He could not. He did not even care for that. He **did** notice, however, that she was not gruesome as he had thought she might have been. Her chestnut hair was loosely braided and decorated by several small pearl beads, and a headband made of solid gold rested across her forehead, a ruby the size of a thumb proudly sitting at the center of it.

Her eyes were small and brown, heavily laden with thick eyelashes, and her thin lips were very pale. Hiccup wondered if she was sick from the trip, because she looked so whitish; it was such a contrast from her lavish, warm-colored clothes.

In fact, he now noted, the three of them were all very well clothed and very much adorned with jewelry. It was common for a Viking warrior and tribal leader to wear clothes like that; he looked like a mainlander from the East. Even Athole's garments were made of rich fabrics and had several different brocades, and his armor was made of the finest materials. It glistened in the sun, oddly glossy, clearly over-polished.

Such an _enormous_ contrast. He'd never met an ugly man so vain; he'd never met such an ugly man either, for the record.

"So!" The Blister rumbled, and the way he spoke made Hiccup's innards twist, "quite them knockers 'ere, eh? Ah c'mon, ye dun' havta be shy! Ye can feel 'em up if ye want ter."

And he finished with a loud boom of a laughter, the rest of his men joining the uproar. The girl squirmed uncomfortably, her eyes shifting about everywhere, her shoulders tense. No color rose to her cheeks, however.

"She's playin' the maiden now, boy," he proceeded, and Hiccup just wished that disgusting blighter would shut up, "but she can be quite the vixen."

Another roar of laughter from the Bunkerheads in the background.

"An' if she's not pleasin' ye," Athole came uncomfortably close to Hiccup's face, so much so that he could smell the man's pestilent breath, "just ge' yerself a nice concubine wif a nice tight cunnie. Heard ye already have a pretty wench –"

"That's enough, Athole."

Hiccup was **never** so relieved to hear his father's voice, because he could feel himself growing redder and angrier by the moment.

Again the low, rumbling laughter from the crude leader of the other clan. It was amazing how easily this man seemed to laugh, although his laughter seemed more prone to trigger a gag reflex than a smile from someone else. But that might have been his foul stench, too. Fancy clothes cannot mask so much corruption.

"Beggin' ma pardons, Stoick _The Vast_," he said, pronouncing the cognomen with a hint of mockery, "yer absolutely right. We have terms ter discuss, you and I. And a feast to prepare; I brought me favorite cooks n' foods along, and plenty of the finest wine and sweetest mead ye ever tasted, wif enough honey ter feed us all fer months t' come. Tonight, we CELEBRATE!"

Roars, cheers, laughter from their crowd. Except for Bergthora, who stood as silently and stiffly as everyone else from Berk, her expression completely blank.

They made their way from the docks, and all the while Hiccup's eyes scanned his surroundings in hopes of catching a hint of Astrid; but she was nowhere among the crowd. There was little unloading to be done, because the Brawling Bunkerheads preferred to sleep in their own ships rather than in one of Berk's inns; and for that everyone was thankful. Nobody wanted those vile people sleeping among them.

Gobber tried to comfort Hiccup as they made their way to the Great Hall, but to no avail.

The meeting was long and exhausting and Hiccup could not stand another one of Athole's offensive, foul wisecracks. Even with Elder Gothi present he was relentless. The bride-price was set, and it was a hefty one; Stoick and Athole squabbled over the outrageous amount of silver Athole was demanding for the _mundr_, but they settled for half the initial amount, four cows and a full set of fine battle equipment.

Athole even wanted details set on the morning-gift; much to Hiccup's anger he wanted to have Toothless included with it. They managed to convince him that a much bigger and stronger dragon (well, Athole didn't need to know about the Night Fury's superior strength and speed) would be most fitting; and on top of that, Toothless was injured so he needed special equipment in order to fly. So now Hiccup needed to train a Monstrous Nightmare for his bride, and teach her how to fly.

She looked positively terrified at the concept for a brief moment, but regained her composure rather quickly; a silent, stony demeanor, eyes always cast downwards. It unnerved Hiccup. Was she mute? Her bastard brother seemed to do enough talking for the both of them though.

And as for the bride's dowry, well, let's just say she would be well-supplied with fine jewelry and fine clothes for generations to come. And Athole was offering slaves, too; a concept most unwelcome in Berk, so it was refused.

"We do our own work here, Athole," Stoick affirmed, "an' I'm sure she'll have no problem finding people willing to help her with whatever she needs."

"Suit yerself. As for th'rest, it's not like I need 'em anyway, them clothes n' them jewels," the Blister boasted, "Yer mother ain't getting new ones, she's as good as dead wif 'at sickness of 'ers. An' me concubines'll settle fer anything, 's long as they 'ave this," he grabbed at his crotch and made a lewd gesture, in case anyone needed some help figuring out what it is he meant.

Hiccup's stomach flipped unpleasantly and he glanced over at Bergthora, who did not even seem to register her father's words. He felt a sudden pang of sympathy; it must have been horrible to grow up with a man like this. He really couldn't blame her for being so reclusive.

Finally the negotiations were settled, and everyone went about the preparations for the night's feast. There was a lot of cooking to be done, and a lot of organizing too; and obviously there was a slight sense of dread lingering about, because a feast with free drink and food with the Bunkerheads was not likely to be free of trouble.

Hiccup would still need to wear his fancy ceremonial clothing to the feast at the Great Hall, but all he wanted to do was head home, rip the fabric off his skin and burn it. And maybe take a warm bath – even though he'd had one this morning – to rid himself of the ickiness he felt. It was as if Athole's corruption were seeping into his skin, which bothered him tremendously.

He needed to find his best friend and go out for a ride. He wished he would never have to come back to this hideous joke that fate seemed to be playing on him. The Gods have a wicked sense of humor, indeed… they ripped the woman he loved from his grasp and gave him a glass of poison instead.

Oh, Astrid… you haven't talked to me in weeks. Every time we cross paths you won't even look at me. You won't come anywhere near me. It hurts.

He needed to run away from all that, but there was no comfort or relief in anything he did or saw anymore. So maybe he **would** go for a spin later on. Enjoy some of his last moments of freedom… No. Not his last. That girl would be no boss of him. He would still fly away with Toothless to anywhere he wanted to go! He would not be bound by some… stranger.

Resolute, he descended the Hill and made way to his house, not wanting to have anything to do with the preparations for the feast, and very much willing to go as far from that despicable man as possible. He'd never encountered such a vile person. Maybe Alvin the Treacherous, but that guy wasn't nearly as creepy and prurient.

Inside his home, up on the loft he used as a bed chamber, Toothless awaited him eagerly. There was no way Hiccup would be able to exit his house with Toothless all the way down to the forge without being seen during the daylight, and he'd left most of his long-flight gear there. He'd been working on a few more improvements to his inventions lately, focusing on that rather than on all the sad events that had been occurring.

He would go for a ride while everyone was entertained with the feast. They probably wouldn't even notice him gone.

"Hey bud," he greeted the black dragon, patting his snout and chin vigorously, to which he replied with a friendly gurgle and gentle head-butts. Toothless was the last tether he still had to a life that had been happy only a fortnight ago.

Toothless shot him an inquisitive look, as if asking "_how'd it go?_"

Hiccup sighed deeply and sunk into his wooden bed, limbs outstretched and facing the ceiling.

"This is awful, Toothless. Just awful. All of this is happening, and I can't help being selfish," he used his forearm to cover his eyes. But the fabric seemed to itch on his skin, seemed to claw at him somehow, and that only made him more frustrated.

"I can't help wanting to screw this all to Hel and just be with Astrid," he said aloud, and then added in a little voice, all to himself, "I would start a war for her."

It startled him that he would even consider that option. Five years ago he had risked his life and lost a limb, trying to save the population of Berk from the Red Death. Now he thought of putting those same people at risk, for a chance to be with his beloved. There seems to be a huge contradiction here – was this what love was all about? Putting your own morals at stake?

Toothless chortled, feeling bad for his human companion, and went to him to offer some comfort. Toothless had gotten so used to the concept of Astrid being his human's mate, that the whole idea seemed utterly confusing. Humans were terribly complicated at times. Poor boy.

Hiccup waited in the house until it was nightfall; he definitely wanted to sneak away after the feast, so he lighted the oil lamps and readied his travel bag with his essentials for a night-long trip.

He packed some flint and his favorite fire-steel – perfected by himself, of course – and a handful of fine oak touchwood inside his leather pouch. He grabbed some salt-dried fish and meat strips from the main room downstairs, and filled his amphorae with fresh water. He set his preferred clothes on top of the bed – he didn't want to wear those damned ceremonial garbs any further than what was required – and his bearskin cloak, in case it gold colder or he decided to fly above the clouds.

"Hiccup?" Gobber called out from down below; he hadn't even realized anyone had come inside the house, "It's time you join us at the Great Hall. Feast is about to begin. You alright up there?"

"Wait up Gobber, I'll be down in a minute," he called back, propping his travel bag on his bed. He joined Gobber downstairs.

"Was I away for too long? I couldn't stand another minute in there with that… that…"

"Atrocious creature?" Gobber offered, "Eh, sonny, I get you. I've never been able to stand the man, he's just the lowliest I've met. He talks much too crudely, there's no art in how he makes his jokes. And I like them basic ones!"

Hiccup knew that, and somehow a small smile seemed to pull at the corners of his mouth. When he was younger Gobber would certainly avoid making certain japes but after he'd turned seventeen, it was like a switch was flicked on. Sometimes Hiccup would be working and his ears would burn tenfold, not because of the heat in the smithy but because of Gobber's raunchy jokes and tales. It was all in good fun though, and never nearly as offensive as Athole's.

Gobber's good hand – only hand – came to rest on Hiccup's shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze.

"You know your father's just tryn'a protect us from a war, aye?"

"Yeah…" Hiccup said, but he wasn't so sure if a war really could be avoided in the first place. Or should. Whichever. Slight moral conflict here.

"An' you know, it's a luxury to marry for love in our culture. Especially in your position."

Hiccup was somehow startled that Gobber was even having this sort of conversation with him, but then again his mentor always had a way of catching him by surprise with the most delicate issues.

"Even so, Gobber," Hiccup replied, "I never thought I'd get into a mess like this. I thought I would have a chance…" he swallowed, and the words seemed to catch on his throat but he forced them out, "to be happy, and to be with the person I want."

He balled his fists so tightly his nails started to dig into his palms.

"Instead, I'm being used as a trading coin to _possibly_ avoid a war. We're not even sure if it'll keep us out, or if it'll or shove us into a bigger problem."

"Aye, but it's the _right_ thing to do, Hiccup. Listen to me. I know your father told you about this," Gobber said, in his that tone he would use whenever he handed out delicate advice, "the alternatives aren't very good. You're doing this because we can't chance becoming a direct target to The Blister's wrath," Gobber let go of his shoulder and made his way towards the door, slowly.

"But that doesn't mean you should entirely give up on everything that made you happy," he said, stopping just before he closed the door behind him.

"Gobber, what are you trying to say?"

"I'm not sayin' anything. I'm just askin' you a question: would you truly fight for that lass?"

He left without awaiting a reply.

A very dazed Hiccup climbed back upstairs and looked around his bedchamber; Toothless lay on his rock slab, curled on himself. There were drawings and paintings everywhere Hiccup looked. Some were designs for new gadgets, or old gadgets, or for clothing and accessories he'd planned on crafting. There were various drawings of dragons, people… and Astrid, many many drawing and sketches of her.

Now every time he looked at those drawings he felt a pang on his heart. There were dozens of reminders of her, and he knew he would soon have to hide them all away. No wife would tolerate her husband's hand-drawn pictures of the woman he loved, when that woman wasn't his wife. He quickly folded and carefully fitted his favorite into his travel bag; for that particular one she had actually posed for him, and whenever he looked at it he was taken back to that day and how happy they'd been.

And how beautiful she is.

He was truly trying to torture himself, because the last thing he decided to bring – and that one he took with him, tucked inside the inner pocket of his vest – was a lock of her golden hair. They'd given each other a lock of each one's hairs, to keep one another close while he was out on his exploring trips.

He smiled lovingly at the beautiful lock of hair, remembering the romantic moment with longing. He felt like he'd placed a ray of sunshine near his heart; no matter what happened, nobody could take those memories away from him. If everything was to wilt and wither, he could still remember those times.

Then he slowly, warily made his way out of his home and up the stony steps of the Great Hall, each climb a mountain of its own.

* * *

**END OF CHAPTER FIVE**

* * *

_Well, that Blister guy is really ghastly, I know. He's supposed to be easy to hate. ;p_

_Also, I don't know how I missed it several times (should have been written in chapter one, maybe I'll edit it), but I had planned that the name of the other tribe would be the _Brawling Bunkerheds_, only I kept forgetting to write the '_Brawling_' part every now and then. xD (can't keep writing it all the time, gets tiresome...LAZY, I know!)_

_So... share your thoughts with me. I like it that some people try to guess what's going to happen, lol. :) and the more feedback I get, the faster I want to write! Next chapter ought to be out next week... Maybe!_

(1)_Wyrd_ was the Viking's God of Fate.


	6. Sucked in

_Hello peeps, and welcome back to this... this, erm, figment of my imagination. Step right in, grab a drink or two, and have a Thai massage while you're at it._

_Once again, mind the explicit language. We're not dealing with gallant knights in shiny armor here, nor innocent children/teenagers. Nope._

_Mind the drinking too. And while I'm at it, mind the eventual violence and crudeness and the ridiculous number of times Hiccup can be surprised in just one night. But I bet the record can be broken eventually._

**DISCLAIMER**: if I owned anything, I'd be writing proper NOVELS filled with senseless SMUT and loads of LEMONS and hopefully I would be making money out of it, and not just satisfying my inner perv. Yeah.

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX: Sucked in.**

* * *

Once inside, Hiccup took a look around; dozens and dozens of torches burned brightly, clearly oblivious to the sadness he felt. The shadows they cast played tricks on his mind sometimes, and every now and then he felt a flicker of hope that one of the many blonde manes he saw belonged to Astrid. But of course, she was nowhere to be seen.

He took his seat by the table, joining his father and Gobber, his bride (who had changed clothes and now wore a mauve dress with a red velvet cape, but looked just as stern as before) and her abhorrent father. He wished he needn't be placed right beside his wife-to-be, but such was demanded by social norms.

He was beginning to hate the social norms with a renewed gusto.

The Great Hall soon filled with people, tables and tables full of rows of Vikings, but each group sat in separate locations; there would be no mingling between the two tribes, at least not until a large portion of the drinks were gone and their tongues and spirits were loosened enough.

They were firstly served a dish of lamb stew and cabbage, boiled with different spices and herbs (probably imported by that pretentious idiot), followed by roasted pork stuffed with peas and spinach. Both dishes were heavily drizzled, the first one in garlic pepper sauce, the other he could not identify, but both were equally savorless to him.

In fact, Hiccup only managed to eat a couple of bites of each dish presented, and only because he was obliged to due to his position as groom; everything tasted the same to him, and he swore that even the cheery music was getting on his nerves profoundly. However, he noted just how his own villagers were eating away avidly, so the food was probably great. He just didn't have the stomach for it.

Next came the trout and salmon stewed with mushrooms, onions and seaweed, and afterwards they served cod prepared with turnips and radishes.

He could barely manage to bite into the pumpkin and carrot pie, and had to adamantly turn down the honeyed apples and lemon biscuits. But he could skip the deserts, as it wasn't considered offensive.

The only thing he did consume in quantity was the wine; honestly it was the only thing that truly appealed to him that night. It was warmed with honey and foreign spices, and the flavor prickled his tongue and crept down his throat with a sweet, welcoming warmth. It made him think of Astrid's tongue dancing on his, and with each deliberately dragged out drought he closed his eyes and exhaled, relinquishing the memories.

His father warned him, "You've barely eaten, so take it easy on the wine, son." So Hiccup immediately poured himself another mug of wine and downed half of it in one swig.

"No need to worry Dad, see? You're right. This **is** pretty easy to drink."

Hiccup ignored his father's upset look, and focused his attention on tracing the intricate patterns on his mug. It was big and terribly heavy since it was made out of solid silver, and had very interesting carvings all over it, even on its handle.

That superficial prick brought four silver mugs for himself, his daughter, Stoick and Hiccup, because they were "fitting fer a king's feast". Hiccup wondered just how lavish the actual wedding festivities would be, and shuddered at the thought. Maybe he had brought solid gold goblets or something for the "special occasion".

Finally The Blister removed himself from the main table and went stumbling down to join his men in singing and drinking (more). It was a strange sight to behold; a cruel warmongering fiend, drinking and chanting with his men and laughing that terrible laughter of his, recounting tales of his adventures (most of them either violent or coarse, or both).

The unwilling groom sourly noted they were throwing food – and other things – at a man. It was the Bunkerhead tribesman who had raped a young barmaid recently. Athole had dealt with the criminal himself, upon request of the girl's family for vengeance. The rapist's tongue had been removed, along with his hands and the other organ he'd used to deflower the girl. The man still wore bloody bandages on his stumps, and it was obvious he was feverish; the wounds had not healed properly yet. He was being dragged around by an iron shackle at his throat, occasionally stumbling and falling over on himself – each time he did, laughter erupted from those tables where the Bunkerheads sat.

The whole grim spectacle disgusted Hiccup. Normally the price for forcing sex upon an unwilling maiden was that the two were compelled to marry, and the groom had to pay a hefty monetary price. But these were an unusual kind of Vikings, and anyways the girl's parents did not want her married off to someone of that unsavory tribe.

Still, Hiccup felt that it would have been better to just execute the man cleanly. Instead, he would eventually die from an infection – or from being so roughly handled by his own clan. It was a harsh kind of justice that they were not entirely used to in Berk. He hated that his father would even allow for such a thing.

What exactly was going on with this whole arrangement? Nothing seemed to make much sense to him anymore.

Hiccup only took notice that Gobber and Stoick had left the table after Bergthora nudged him with her foot beneath the table. He jumped at the contact, startled, and must have had a wild look on his face, because he heard her speak, "I just want to talk."

Or he thought he heard her say. Her voice was so low he could hardly hear it through the commotion. He leaned in closer, ever so slightly, and said, "Okay."

He wondered why she needed to wear such heavy jewelry. The golden hoops she wore reminded him of the bands villagers would dangle on their cattle's ears, and the strange, oddly-shaped thick amulet she wore above her – once again, wide – cleavage somehow made him think of that one time Snotlout had drank too much on a bet, and thrown up on Ruffnut's lap.

He did a poor job stifling a chuckle at the untimely memory, and saw her eyebrows knit together in mild confusion. They were too thin, and looked like worms to him.

"Talk," he said, maybe a little too brusquely. Not that he cared about her feelings.

She seemed to swallow back her words, seemed to struggle on whether she should get the words out. But eventually she spoke, avoiding eye contact as much as possible, always keeping her voice low.

"Do you hate me?"

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, drumming his fingers on the wooden table. They felt oddly numb.

"I don't know you," he said earnestly. And I don't want to get to know you, he wished he could add, but he held back his tongue. He still knew his manners, even if the wine seemed to want him to bugger them all.

She was now looking around the Great Hall, her mouth slightly open as if she'd forgotten what words to use. She spoke again after a few moments of what seemed like contemplation.

"I hate feasts," she confessed dourly, "the feasts with my people are always terrible. My father loves them. He loves it when people get drunk and start fighting. By the time I'm about to leave, it reeks of blood and piss all over the place, and there's women being shafted on the tables and on the floor, sometimes by more than one man. They throw copper coins at them, and one by one… they… sometimes they fight over the women, and even kill each others."

She took a sharp intake of breath and exhaled shakily, "you must think we're animals."

Hiccup was taken aback. He didn't quite expect her to speak like that, but far more troubling than her choice of words was the information she just disclosed.

He looked around frantically, feeling some sort of unease rising and a vague sense of dizziness. She seemed to know what he was thinking.

"Don't worry," she said, "they will behave tonight. Father commanded them to, because he says you Hooligans _don't know how to have fun_."

"Fun?" Hiccup croaked, still baffled, "is that your people's idea of _fun_?"

He would have laughed, if the situation weren't so disturbing.

"That's madness, you know? Sheer m-madness! How can t-there be a complete lack of, of, of **control**? And decency and respect?" He stammered through his words, as his brain was reeling far too fast for his mouth to be properly coordinated. Gods damn that wine. Now he was concerned there might be something in the beverages, and he'd downed three and a half mugs of the thing!

He clicked his tongue, still tasting of the sweet wine, and sourly noted that he felt somewhat light-headed.

"I know that. I am **not** like them, believe me," she sighed, "and there are others who…"

She paused. He noticed then that her hands – each finger was adorned with a golden ring – were clutching at the border of the table, as if she was about to fall from the skies.

"You said you didn't know me. I don't know you either, but I hope I can trust you with this. I've heard of what you have done, and I've heard of your father's deeds as well, I've heard of his honor and values… Not from my father," she added, "he always speaks foul of everyone else."

She was talking so fast, and in such hushed tones, but Hiccup could still hear the determination and the anger in her voice rising.

"I heard from others, from men I trust. You are both **good** men," she said, stressing the word 'good' as if it were a prayer, "and I heard you love someone. A girl."

Now she was staring him straight in the eyes, her brown ones finally showing some emotion. He was feeling an emotion of his own, too, as Astrid crossed his thoughts.

"You leave her out of this. She'll have no influence –" he began, but she cut him off.

"I don't care about her," she hissed, "I don't even care to know who she is. But you do and you care. I'm…"

She paused when her bastard brother suddenly appeared at the front of the table, his chunky face twisted it what might have been a grin. He pretty much looked like a five-year-old had carved a mouth into a pumpkin with a blunt knife.

"Dearest sister," he slurred unevenly, "you do well, yes, work your charms on him. A woman has to keep her husband happy."

He waved an abnormally large finger to her face in an overly exaggerated gesture, and then turned to speak to Hiccup.

"Because if he's not happy, you'll get what you deserve little sister. Am I right, o ser?"

He'd pronounced the expression 'little sister' as if he was trying to spew venom from his mouth. Thor almighty, how could that man produce an exact carbon copy of himself? Some people should not be allowed to have offspring.

"No," Hiccup firmly replied, "I believe women should be duly respected… bastard."

Odin's beard, he was going to get himself into a fight. This wasn't like him. He didn't talk this way, didn't look for unnecessary problems and, in fact, usually the problems didn't need any help finding _him_ in the first place!

But much to his surprise, the bastard son of Athole took no offense. He just laughed – the same kind of terrible cackle as his father – and lurched away, apparently finding the idea of respect towards women ludicrous. A chip off the old block, that one.

"You got lucky," she said, resuming their conversation as soon as her half-brother was safely distant, "he actually takes pride in being the bastard son. Thank you."

"He's a fine and caring brother, isn't he?"

"He would kill me in my sleep if he could get away with it. But this arrangement is much more convenient for them." Somehow, her statement didn't surprise Hiccup.

"As I was saying… I don't care who it is you are in love with. I just care that you **are**, because it's dangerous. For both of you, and for me too."

"And as **I** was saying," Hiccup insisted angrily, "leave her out of this. I'll keep to my word."

"Words will not help. I loved… I still love someone, too. He is not here, and was lucky his life was spared. He was shipped off somewhere, and I haven't heard of him since."

Wow. The day had been full of unexpected revelations but this must have been one of the biggest ones. And here he was, thinking she was just a washed-up girl without a mind of her own, and it turns out she's just as scared, lonely and miserable as he was.

He didn't know what to do or say, because she clearly looked like she was fighting back a wave of tears. She shook her head ever so slightly, her eyes now closed, and took another deep breath. It was probably taking all of her courage to say all of this.

"But I need to play my part if I want to stay alive. So I really hope I can trust you with this…"

She leaned in dangerously close, her hands crawling up his shoulders, and whispered into his ear.

"There are people from my tribe who wish my father ill. They want him dead almost as much as I do."

He wished he could have more time to talk to her about that puzzling statement, but her father had suddenly climbed unsteadily onto a table and boomed, "BRING ME THE SACRIFICE!"

For a moment Hiccup dreaded Athole was going to split the throat of the rapist right there; that didn't happen, but he still watched grimly as The Blister killed the live boar, and saw the trail of blood that pooled onto the flagstone floor as the carcass was dragged to the middle of the Great Hall, to be skewered and roasted in the blazing heat of the central fireplace.

"BUNKERHEADS AND HOOLIGANS! Time for the toast! A TOAST TO THE BRIDE N' GROOM!"

People were now staring directly at the table where he sat so he and Bergthora were allowed no more further conversation, but his mind kept screaming at him to go talk to his father.

The booming voice seemed to reverberate in Hiccup's ears and he half-wished he was Thor incarnated, because he would have thrown the enormous dinner table at The Blister's head. Still, he pretended to drink his toast – in reality he did not even taste any more wine, because he had already drank too much and was very wary of anything offered by that man.

"TIME FOR THE GAMES! TIME FOR THE DANCES! The _skalds_ will sing of this feast!"

The beat of the music picked up and nearly everyone stood from their seats, save for those too drunk or who were playing board games. People gathered to hear the _skalds_ sing or tell tales, others threw daggers at targets, others wrestled among themselves. A woman from the Bunkerhead clan approached the table and took Bergthora's unwilling hand, "Time to play _hnefatafl_, lass!"

At the same time he felt someone tugging at him as well, and it took him some time to realize it was Snotlout pulling him up.

"You gotta get up and mingle, cousin!"

Snotlout, you're drunk – Hiccup wanted to say, but he immediately realized he was not steady on his feet as well, and he tripped on his prosthetic foot. He laughed, and it was such an unexpected laughter that he actually looked around to try and see if it really had been his. It must have been, since Snotlout had his mouth around another mug, Tuffnut was chewing on his own tunic, and his twin sister and Fishlegs were… _What in Odin's name were they doing_?

For the love of your sanity look away, look away!

That could not have just happened. Eugh.

Oh, wait. Wait, focus. You're not focused. You seem to be drunk. Test it out with a couple of steps. Okay, those worked. Now cross your legs and…

"Ooof! Sorry, 'Lout!" He'd crashed straight into his cousin, whose drink spilled all over his tunic.

"It's okay," he shrugged, "just come with, with me to get an-oother one. Ooorrrrr you can let me have some of your wine," Snotlout said, his eyes widening with anticipation.

"I bet **that** tastes great!"

"No, no no nonono Snoltloult, the wine's not, eeeeeh," he tried to think of something bad to say about the wine, "I think Gobber threw up in my mug."

Despite that not making much sense, it immediately threw Snotlout off his mood for wine. He detached himself from Hiccup and huddled toward the nearest tankard of mead, much to Hiccup's relief. That mead belonged to them, the proud Hooligans, and not to the Bunkerbeds. Bunkerheads.

He reminded himself he had an important message to his father, so he went searching for him. He found Stoick sitting at a table with some other men from the Hooligans and, he realized after cranking his memory, some from the Bunkerbeds. Heads.

This was not good. It would seem strange if he were to pull his father aside now, and whisper the information. But he couldn't wait. He couldn't talk to Bergthora any further either… He had an idea. He found Snotlout again – he was hugging the mead tankard - and pulled him onto his shoulders (but not without considerable effort).

"Heyyyy Hiccup, 'cuz," he gurgled amiably, "really 's nice of you, been meaning to go outside to piss. Buuutttt I needed some help, this flo-fl-floor's full of holes 'n it shakes. I wanna help too," Snotlout managed to croak, "You're so unhappy, 'cuz."

It was in moments like these that Hiccup realized Snotlout didn't really hate him. That was kind of nice.

He managed to slip unnoticed from the throng of people, and found himself outside of the Great Hall. Much to his satisfaction, the night would provide the perfect cover for him and Toothless – the mist had set in deeply, making everything seem fuzzy in the pale moonlight. That was good. He wanted to avoid the sentinels that had been planted since the Bunkerheads arrived.

He left Snotlout sitting against the wall of the Great Hall's front, half-asleep, and made his way down the stony steps. If the cool night air hadn't slapped some of his drunken stupor off, the insanely loud lightning crack definitely did. A thunderstorm was brewing – he needed to move fast.

He quickly got inside his house and wobbled up the wooden stairs to his loft, where Toothless greeted him excitingly. He patted his best friend's snot gently.

"I know bud, I know I promised. We'll be out soon, I just need to find…"

He grabbed some paper and went to look for his writing stick. He looked and looked and couldn't find one. He even opened his chest and rummaged through everything inside it, but found nothing. He growled in frustration.

"Gods damn it! Where are all my writing sticks? Damnit, damn it, burn them all in…"

That's right, he'd left them at the smithy. Stupid.

"C'mon, Toothless. You're coming with me now."

He grabbed his bearskin, his clothes and his travel bag and ushered Toothless out the opening from the ceiling while he took the stairs, meeting his Night Fury outside. They walked the path down to the smithy as carefully as they could, to avoid being seen by the sentries (whom he suspected had managed to smuggle a mead barrel or two from the Hall). With the help of the thick fog (and probably some tankards of mead), it wasn't a hard task.

He hid Toothless inside the main chamber of the forge, and urged him to be quiet as he entered his own workshop in the back.

Wow. He really had left the whole place a complete mess. Even his riding gear was out of place. He grabbed a writing stick and scribbled the message down on a paper, folded it and hid it inside of an empty leather drinking pouch. He would leave the pouch somewhere only Gobber could find it.

He heard Toothless warble.

"I'm coming, bud, I just need to change into my gear!"

He removed Astrid's lock of hair from the inside pocket of his vest, carefully placing it on his workbench. He stripped down from those irritating clothes and tossed them sideways, ignoring the tiny bumps that littered his exposed skin; he heard a muffled sound and some slight clanking.

"Toothless," he called out as quietly as he could, "stay still!"

He started getting dressed with the clothes he'd brought, pulling on his pair of riding-leather breeches. He put his short-sleeved shirt on, and then his long-sleeved green tunic.

He turned to grab his riding-leather. The brown leather shirt was tight-fitting across his chest and down his hips, but a bit looser around his arms, reaching down to his elbows. On top of that he secured his chest and shoulder gear, black leather he'd carefully sewn together at every stitch, a roaring red dragon painted on the left shoulder pad. He fastened his buckles expertly across his chest and stomach, and fit his gadget-equipped gauntlets on each forearm.

He pulled on his boot and grabbed his leather helmet, tucking it under his arm, and placed the lock of golden hair in the inner pocket of his vest. Then he strapped the small travel bag to Toothless' saddle on one side, and tucked the bearskin on the other side; then he hid the message for Gobber. Hopefully his mentor would find it.

He was about to leave when he heard a strange noise from the back. Toothless couldn't have done it, or he would have seen him. Was there someone in his workshop? Some Bunkerhead snooping around perhaps. He needed to check.

Hiccup grabbed a nearby sword and carefully made his way back to his workspace. He looked around, carefully this time. Then he noticed what was off – the chest where he kept his leathers and trinkets had been opened, and something was missing. A lot of stuff, actually.

He noticed something move in the corner, behind some piles of leather and wood he kept in the back. He approached that corner, sword steadily grasped in his left hand…

He was completely knocked out of his breath when Astrid jumped from behind the pile and landed square on his chest. Everything was a tangle of limbs and buckles and leather and spikes and clasps.

"Get. Off. Of. Me!" She wheezed.

"What? **You're **– unf! – the one – _hey_! – on toooop," and now he had just been kneed in the groin by his former-girlfriend-with-whom-he-was-still-in-love-w ith. Lovely. But he still managed to get up and follow her, and since Toothless was partially blocking her way he managed to grab her by the wrist.

"Wait! Astrid, please."

She didn't even look at him; she just threw some random item at his face – luckily nothing sharp – and yanked her hand away, somersaulting her way around Toothless in her typical display of acrobatics.

"Ow! What in Odin's Ghost, you flippin' woman!"

It took him some time to get back up on his feet – well, foot – and give chase. This time he put on his leather helmet, just in case she decided to hit him in the face again.

"Toothless, which way did she go?"

He followed Toothless to the docks, unable to see much in front of him because of the fog. They'd lost her for a while, until they heard a loud thump and a stifled scream.

"Astrid…? Astrid!" He called, running toward where the sound might have come from. He was horrified to find Astrid pinned against the wall of one of the wooden structures in the docks, a large Bunkerhead holding her hands above her head with one of his, a dagger on his other hand. Hiccup knew what the man wanted from her. He signaled for Toothless to stay hidden, and took a few steps forward.

"Leave her alone," he said, his voice as steady and low as he could manage.

At first the bloke had seemed surprised, but then he saw Hiccup and laughed; he was easily three times his size in width.

"I found her first. I go first. You wait your turn, boy," he spat, apparently oblivious to the kicks Astrid was delivering to his ribs.

"I won't say this again. You let her go, or else."

The man swiveled suddenly, and in one swift move he threw Astrid to the ground with a loud thud, launching himself at Hiccup with his dagger raised in the air. He was too slow; Hiccup dodged his assault easily by leaping to his left side, and while the man was still trying to figure out where he'd gone to, Toothless' tail smacked him so hard in the head that he collapsed immediately. Toothless harrumphed triumphantly and sat on top of the man, ensuring he would not move an inch.

The skies flashed white and another low rumble resounded deeply, as if Thor himself were issuing a warning. The storm must really be nearby.

"Astrid! Are you okay?" Hiccup asked, kneeling by her side. He held out her hand to help her stand, but she just swatted at it, stood up and walked away.

"Just stay away from me, you hear?"

"Wha…are you kidding me? How about, 'hey, thanks for showing up'? That guy was going to –"

"He wasn't going to do **anything**, Hiccup," she hissed, bending down to the floor to pick up something she'd dropped. A leather bag. It was one of his, he noted, from the forge.

"I had it under control," she insisted, but the way her voice trembled suggested otherwise..

"Clearly. You're welcome," he deadpanned, the rush of fear and adrenaline he'd felt moments ago still making his breath shaky.

Was she really walking away? They hadn't talked in two weeks, he catches her hiding in his workshop at the smithy, she smacks him _twice_, he saved her butt (probably literally) and that was that? Stay away?

"Wow, hey, where do you think you're going?" He asked, making his way towards her, "Look, we need to talk…"

He never saw it coming until the man was right on top of them; it must have been another one of them, hiding out and waiting for the right time to jump at them. Hiccup reacted instantly and shoved Astrid to the ground, rapidly throwing his left fist into the man's face.

Hiccup heard a crunching sound – probably the man's nose, or one of his fingers. Hopefully not the latter. Toothless didn't even have enough time to come near them, because sooner than that they were both rolling around on the floor, the burlier man's size playing to his advantage. Hiccup saw the man reaching for his dagger and instinctively tried to reach it first; he grabbed the hilt and pointed it upwards.

It was over in a moment, just as fast as it had started. Hiccup didn't even realize what had happened, but it was Astrid who'd managed to find an oar and slammed it on the man's head, causing him to lose his balance and fall straight unto the dagger.

He heard a sickening gurgle and felt the man twitch and go limp in an instant, before he rolled over and fell to the side. Hiccup crawled from beneath him as fast as possible, before the foreign blood could seep into his own clothes.

The three of them stood there, staring blankly at the corpse.

"W-what have I done…?" Hiccup croaked weakly; the man's bloodied dagger fell from his trembling hands with an ominous clank, as if it were somehow offended that it had been used against its owner. He didn't even realize how he was still holding on to that weapon.

Toothless let out an alarmed warble and nosed at Hiccup, forcing him to stand up straight.

"Look!" Astrid said, pointing at some place in the mist; someone was coming, carrying a torchlight. They needed to move, fast.

Hiccup instinctively jumped on Toothless and eased himself onto the complex saddle, quickly shifting his prosthetic foot into the riding position and clicking it into the gear. He checked that neither of his fingers was broken, fortunately, and fastened the security ropes to himself. He was going to tell Astrid to jump on, but she'd vanished through the doors of a nearby shack, reappearing moments later already saddled on Stormfly.

She took off without another sound, and he and Toothless silently vanished into the skies as well. Just in time; they could hear the voices getting closer and the torchlights becoming brighter.

Astrid was trying to fly away from him, and it was hard to keep track of her in the middle of all the mist; he didn't want to call out to her yet because he did not want to draw her attention. Toothless could smell her though, or so he hoped, so he flew blindly through the mist for a couple of minutes.

Another thunderbolt crashed nearby; and this time, it was really very near. Its brightness and the loudness of the sound almost threw them off balance, but during the flash he saw Stormfly up ahead. He asked Toothless to bring him closer to them, and when he was in earshot range he called out to her. Once again, she ignored him and he insisted, until he got positively fed up and urged Toothless to fly immediately next to Stormfly.

"What are you…? Hiccup, go away!" She swatted at the air around her and nearly hit Toothless' front paw. "Leave me alone!"

"No!" he yelled back stubbornly, trying not to get tangled in Stormfly's wings, "This is a mess! This whole situation is a _fucking_ mess, and I **need** to talk to you!"

"I have nothing to say to you!"

"But I do! I just need you to listen to me!" He yelled back, and there was a sudden and violent gust of wind that once again threatened their balance. Visibility was dangerously low now; they were flying blind and could easily crash into a rock, plus the increasing wind speed was not helping. If not for his riding gear he would be soaking wet and freezing, as she probably was.

He'd never had kept up with his plan of flying off tonight with this sort of weather.

She suddenly banked left and tried to throw Hiccup and Toothless off balance, but the Night Fury kept its cool and maneuvered around her.

"Have you _lost your mind_?" Hiccup yelped, surprised by her aggressiveness. But then her voice changed into something much less fierce, something much frailer.

"No, **you** have! Just let go of me, Hiccup! **PLEASE** LET ME GO!"

And he did, by Odin… he did slack his hold on the bridle. It was like the pleading, pained tone on her voice made his fingers go numb on their own accord.

Then the world flipped upside-down in a heartbeat. He should have seen it coming if he'd been properly focused; but it was all so sudden.

Toothless and Stormfly both screeched terribly at the same time, just as they sensed the danger. But by then, there was nothing either of them could do.

Another flash illuminated their surroundings and they saw it, the whirlwind in the middle of the sea. They tried, but couldn't fly out of it. It pulled them in with that pure force that only Nature possesses, and so both dragons crashed into one another.

Yet somehow, Hiccup managed to throw his arms around Astrid, and both held on to each other as tightly as humanly possible.

They were sucked into the vortex.

* * *

_Once again I'm playing with perspectives. I didn't initially plan to make a single chapter under ONE point of view but it just turned out that way. _

_I can't really tell if the chapters are long or short. What do you think?_

_Reviews and opinions are much welcome, and feel free to point out those pesky typos or errors._

**NOTES:**

(1) The skalds were their bards and would recite poetry and sing in feasts.

(2) Hnefatafl (sounds like someone just sneezed, lol) was a popular board game among Vikings, which translates into "King's table".


End file.
